


A Genius of His Own

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Things Unwanted [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: - Non-Con, Abuse, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bodily Functions, Canes, Cock Cages, Collars, Dark, Degradation, Dildo Gags, Dildos, Face-Fucking, Fucking Machines, Gunplay, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Harness, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Humiliation, Kneeling, Leashes, M/M, Master/Pet, Muzzles, Name-Calling, Non-con BDSM, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Passing Out, Punching, Riding Crops, Sounding, Spitroasting, St. Andrew's Cross, Threats of Violence, Tiger Balm, electric shock, flogger, kicking, ring gags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John, after weeks of being on a case, get caught by Jim Moriarty and his men. Jim wants to break them so he can have his very own pet genius. Sherlock comes up with a plan to defy him, one that John very much dislikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrender

The day had been long and arduous and it was the second time they'd come across Moriarty in a swimming pool. This time however, he hadn't been bothered, he'd smiled at them, said hello and just walked out.

Sherlock watched him go, confused. He'd spent weeks tracking down the source of this shitty case, only to find out Moriarty was behind it. When they'd finally located him, that was his response. What the hell?

Shrugging at the doctor's confusion - as well as his own - Sherlock walked out a different exit, John was clearly frustrated, but he could deal with that at home.

He kept walking, ignoring John's yell…

Straight into more of Moriarty's minions.

“Bollocks.”

John rolled his eyes as he ran after the detective. When he caught up with him, he let out a groan. Of course Moriarty's men were waiting for them. “For fuck's sake.”

Sherlock had been pressed to his knees practically immediately. It was rather handy being at that height, it meant it was easier for him to spin his arms around and grab the gun at the back of his head. Of course, that was until John followed him out and was pushed to his knees beside him. He shrugged a little, but didn't dare to open his mouth.

“You couldn't have gone the other direction?” John asked with mock disgust. He was already taking in the tactical situation with the eye of a soldier. It was the gun pressed to the back of Sherlock's head that posed the problem.

Moriarty appeared, grinning like a mad man. “Sherly… what do you say to me roughing you up a bit, eh?”

Sherlock's hands that were behind his head, clenched into fists.

“Or what about Doctor Watson? I think that would be more fun…”

Sherlock growled, trying to get to his feet and lunge at him, but he was grabbed by the guy behind him.

“You know, you could threaten me.” John was more than happy for the consulting criminal's attentions to be turned to him, even if it was intended to make Sherlock suffer. He'd face anything to protect him. “I have ears and all.”

“You're no fun to threaten… I've said, what? 12 words and he's already fighting Shaun.”

Sherlock glared and struggled again, his fighting was enough for another guy to step forward and help.

“See?” Moriarty laughed. “It's like taking candy from a baby.”

There wasn't a gun aimed at Sherlock's head anymore. Moriarty's men had their hands full holding the maddened detective in place.

John gave a growl as he lunged towards the consulting criminal, breaking partially free from the man that held him.

“Don't kill him!” Moriarty shouted before any of his men could panic and fire a shot into the doctor's skull.

John fought, but the man still had him by the left arm and wrenched it around hard, causing the doctor to yell out in pain.

The yell that John gave made Sherlock still. Two of the three men let him go and he surrendered, his hands raising again. “Alright. Alright, Jim. Let him go. It's me you want.”

“And it's you I've got. Both of you,” Jim practically sang. “I think I'll keep you. I'll play with John until he breaks or dies, whichever comes first, then I'll play with you.”

John breathed heavily, trying to get on top of his pain. The moment he quieted, however, the man holding him twisted his arm once again, brutally. The doctor decided that he would put a bullet in the man's shoulder at the first opportunity. Let him see how he liked it.

Sherlock sighed and slumped forward.

Moriarty watched it smiling. “Ah, Sherly's had enough.”

Sherly. John hated that nickname. “Go fuck yourself Jimmy.” He growled his way through the next wave of pain as his arm was twisted again. “I'm beginning to get bored with this.” He glanced at Sherlock, trying to discern if his apparent capitulation was real or just a ruse.

“Jim,” Sherlock murmured. “You out number us 9 to 2. We aren't going anywhere.”

The criminal mastermind smirked at him. “Are you admitting I've won? And yet we've only just started!”

“Let John go. He won't do anything. Not with his gun at the back of my head.”

Moriarty smirked, then inclined his head slightly. “Since when did little Shirly, care for another?”

The detective's gaze flickered to John and then back to Jim. “Please.”

“Say 'I surrender' and I'll think about it.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out through gritted teeth. “I surrender.”

“No!” John glared at Moriarty. “What good is that? He won't keep his promise.”

“Oh, Johnny Boy, of course I will.” Moriarty brought his hand to his chin and pretended to ponder. “There, I thought about it. I'm not letting you go. Promise kept.” He turned to walk from the room. “Bring them, boys.”

Sherlock was hauled to his feet by the scruff of his neck. He couldn't move his head to see to his side, but it was fairly obvious that the dickhead behind John was using his arm as force rather than his collar.

The doctor had to hand it to the bastard that heaved him to his feet, once he found a weak point, he exploited it thoroughly. As handcuffs were placed around his wrists, holding his arms behind his back, John swore inwardly. He had hoped they'd use rope or a zip tie... something that he knew how to get free of on his own. To get free of handcuffs, he was dependent on Sherlock and they were being kept well apart.

Before Sherlock could be shoved to his knees, he turned and swung a punch at the guy behind him.

Moriarty actually laughed, clapping like a maniac.

Sherlock continued to fight until the barrel of a gun was placed to the back of his head and a strong arm wrapped around his neck. It was in that position that his flatmate and his captor joined them.

John was terrified the man would pull the trigger despite Moriarty. “Jesus, Sherlock, you pick now to fight? Save it for later.”

“Listen to your little pet, Sherly.” James sauntered over and ruffled John's hair. “Or I'll start removing body parts.”

He wandered around behind the doctor and Sherlock silently prayed for once Mycroft had been watching the surveillance he continued to have on him. Not that it would be all that helpful seeing as he had given them the slip hours ago.

“I'll start with his fingers,” Moriarty told Sherlock with a grin.

“No, wait!” He yelled, raising his hands again. “See? I've given up.”

They cuffed Sherlock, which didn't worry John at all. It wasn't until they then searched him and found his lock pick kit that the doctor's heart sank. Things were looking grimmer by the moment. Still, he was a soldier and had got out of worse situations than this. He'd bide his time.

Sherlock however, wasn't a soldier. He was a glorified puzzle solver and he knew it. There was no puzzle to be solved here. It was just Jim Moriarty in control. He growled between clenched teeth.

Moriarty began clapping again. “This is brilliant!”

They were ushered out into an alley. The CCTV camera was pointed conveniently in the opposite direction, a fact that Moriarty delighted in pointing out just before John was shoved roughly into the boot of a car. He couldn't see what had been done with Sherlock. In a fit of rage, he kicked against the boot lid. The only answer was a sharp rap.

Sherlock found himself on his knees on the floor behind the passenger seat. Moriarty climbed in next to him, gripping his curls tightly in his fist.

“You're enjoying this aren't you Sherly? Enjoying being manhandled.”

The detective didn't answer he just let himself be tugged repeatedly without a fight.

They hadn't even searched John. If his mobile had had any power left, he could have used it to call for help. That showed what Moriarty thought of him as a threat, he thought bitterly. Even worse, he had been proven correct in this case. John was furious with himself.

As they pulled up outside a large mansion, Moriarty climbed out, tugging Sherlock along by the curls.

“These were made for this,” he said with another tug.

When Sherlock didn't respond he tightened his grip. “Weren't they?”

“No,” he grunted eventually.

“Let's try that again. First things first, you're my pet now, Sherly. Now, these were made to pull you around, weren't they?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Try, 'yes, sir'.”

“Yes, sir,” he puffed quickly. If giving him what he wanted at the moment meant he'd get to see John then he would go with it.

“Get the leverage out of the car,” Moriarty said with a bored tone. “And don't hurt Johnny Boy more than you have to. We'll save that for when Sherly here misbehaves.”

John blinked at the light when the boot was opened. It was a different man who helped him out by gripping his right shoulder, thankfully. He looked around frantically for Sherlock, frowning when he saw him bent nearly double by Moriarty's side.

Sherlock hissed as his knees hit the gravel. Moriarty had kicked him in the back of the leg and as a result he'd fallen to the ground. His head was snapped back by the criminal mastermind's fist.

“Isn't he a good boy, Johnny?”

“Leave him alone!” the doctor shouted, unable to stop himself.

“John, it's fine,” Sherlock smiled as he inclined his head. “There's nothing they can-”

Moriarty's fist connected with his jaw causing him to grunt in pain. Moriarty snapped his fingers and the man holding him delivered a kidney punch that sent John to his knees.

The doctor ground his teeth and bit back his howl of pain. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Sherlock complied with Moriarty's petty requests, at least until they could talk and devise an escape plan.

“Get up, Sherly.”

Sighing softly, Sherlock pushed himself off his knees, Moriarty's fist still lodged in his curls.

The Irishman began pulling him towards the mansion. “Don't worry, pet, there's plenty of fun to be had in here.”

John had no choice but to follow as he was dragged to his feet. That was fine with him, he didn't want to lose sight of the detective for even a moment.

“When we get inside, show Sherly's pet to the kennel,” Jim called over his shoulder. “He can watch as I debase his master and make Sherly my very own.”

As they wandered through the house Sherlock made sure to look around (subtly) so that he could take in anything that would be of use. They were dragged towards a set of stairs behind a hidden door. It went up to reveal the second floor and then up once again to reveal the attic.

“When you are good boys you can sleep in the doggy beds in the corner. When you aren't…” he pointed at a small metal cage beside an identical one. “Well, it's fairly obvious, isn't it?”

John was shoved into the right hand cage. As soon as it had been shut, he grabbed the door to the cage. That proved to be a mistake. If he hadn't been so focused on Sherlock, he would have seen that the cage door was electrified. He jerked back, spewing expletives as he looked at the red marks on his hands.

Sherlock was forced to his knees in front of the doctor, he should have been glad. It could have been him in the cage about to watch John be tortured and tormented.

“Things to do!” Moriarty clapped his hands together and pretty soon he was buckling a collar up around his neck. Of course, Sherlock would have made a grab at it immediately if it wasn't for the cuffs.

“Wait!” John called out, his hands hovering inches from the door. “What happened to roughing me up to make him suffer? You know it would be more effective.”

“Look at the little doggy making demands.”

Sherlock didn't take what he had to say literally until Moriarty's hand was back in his curls and forcing his head inches from the steel gate.

“Isn't he a good puppy?”

Sherlock tried to nod.

“Use words, Sherly.”

“Yeah-” he choked as Moriarty tugged at the collar. “Yes, sir,” he puffed.

John met Sherlock's eyes and tried to communicate to him without words. He wanted the detective to understand that no matter what Moriarty forced him to say, John knew the truth - Sherlock loved and respected him. Nothing could change that.

“Get down on your hands and knees, puppy,” Jim ordered the doctor. When John hesitated, he tugged at Sherlock's collar roughly. The doctor fell to all fours. “Good puppy. So to control one, we hurt the other one. Easy.”

Sherlock risked a glance at the Irishman. “What is it that you want? And why do you need John?”

“Oh, Sherly, you know how it is. I get so easily bored.” Moriarty released his grip on the detective's collar and walked over to a large chair where he sat. “I want entertainment. And with Johnny Boy as my guest, I'm guaranteed to have it. Allow me to demonstrate. Seb! I've changed my mind. Take the puppy out of the kennel and strap him to the whipping post. That should demonstrate to our guests the possibilities presented by his presence.”

John's eyes went wide and he looked around the cage for a weapon, but of course there was nothing there. Besides, one look at Moriarty's face warned him that any struggling on his part would be taken out on Sherlock. When the cage was opened, he let himself be taken to the post in the corner and bound to it, his hands stretched high over his head. After that, he waited, but nothing happened.

Sherlock remained on his knees, trembling in anger. “Jim, please.”

“Please what?”

“Sir…” he tried, then cleared his throat. “I don't… do it to me.”

“Sherlock! Shut. Up.” John was frustrated. Couldn't the git keep his mouth shut when doing otherwise would get him hurt?

“I wonder how long you two will be so willing to sacrifice for each other,” Moriarty mused. “There has to come a point where self-preservation will kick in.” He grinned gleefully. “I can't wait to see who breaks first and begs for the other one to be hurt.”

Sherlock's eyes screamed defiance as he glared at Jim. “Never,” he hissed.

Moriarty smiled. He snapped a leash onto the collar at Sherlock's neck and dragged him over to kneel beside John, he left him just out of reach.

“I wonder how long the two of you will last.” Moriarty grinned at John, then he walked to him and ran a finger from the old bullet wound at his left shoulder down and across his back to his right hip. “When I beat you with my cane, I'll rip this shirt off so your master can watch each welt rise and bruise.”

“Fuck you!” John spat. He had no idea that he could hate one man so much and he had a horrible suspicion that his hatred would only grow.

“Oooh… this is too much fun.” He jumped up and down before disappearing from both of their views. He reappeared with a similar collar to Sherlock's.

The detective watched as he buckled it around John's neck.

Moriarty went and fetched a pair of heavy duty scissors. “Why wait?” He twirled them on one finger. “You boys won't be needing clothes for some time.”

John breathed in sharply as Jim started cutting off his clothes. It was a classic method of making prisoners feel vulnerable, he knew that. If he hadn't been bound to a damned post, he could have shrugged it off, but the truth was, he was vulnerable and John hated it.

“Now you, my kneeling pet, are going to take off your own clothes.”

He bent down and slipped the key in the cuffs. “Or else I start cutting things from Doctor Watson that aren't items of clothing.”

Ignoring the knife at his throat, John watched helplessly as the detective stripped. There was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing.

Moriarty pulled the gun from his waist band and collapsed in his chair again. He waved it upwards. “Hands,” he growled. “I'm not an idiot.”

Sherlock let go of his jacket and raised his hands, his eyes shooting to John. What were they going to do?

John shook his head. He didn't have an answer to the detective's unspoken question.

At a sound from the other side of the room, John turned his head. Sebastian was looking at several items on a long table.

“Boss, can I play with one of them?” He held up a riding crop and flexed it then set it back down.

Sherlock watched as Moriarty looked over first at Seb and then at the two flatmates.

“Yes. The blond one. Don't do too much damage. There are lessons to be learnt after all. Now, Sherly, come here and kneel at my feet.”

The detective didn't know what else he could do… he glanced worryingly at John who nodded and crawled across the room. He lowered his head so he didn't have to look at the madman.

Fingers were soon in his curls again. “Good doggy.”

Seb grabbed the crop and crossed to stand behind John. He studied the doctor for a moment, swinging the crop through the air idly. When he finally swung it with deliberation, it came down across the doctor's shoulders. Catching John by surprise, he cried out in pain.

Sherlock jolted, trying to move but Moriarty's grip in his hair was too tight.

Suddenly a leash was snapped onto his collar and tugged. “Proper little doggy,” he whispered.

The doctor tried not to cry out as each blow fell because he knew what effect it would have on Sherlock. Unfortunately, that seemed to be driving Moran to use harder and harder blows. He was sure the next strike would break his skin.

“Enough!” Moriarty barked. “I told you not to damage him too much.”

But Moran seemed to be in the zone.

He shoved Sherlock away and stood up.  
“Sebastian!”

The crop wielding man froze before turning to look over his shoulder. “Sorry boss.”

“Not good enough, Seb, I specifically told you not to damage him. Out. Now.”

John could feel pain flaring all along his back, but he didn't think there was any blood. He was breathing hard and let himself hang there in his bonds as he tried to catch his breath.

Moriarty was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock hadn't moved when he turned around.

“Little doggy being a good boy?”

The detective was grinding his teeth, but he didn't look up, nor attempt to answer.

“What would you do, Johnny Boy, to keep me from letting Sebby play with your master for a bit?”

A muscle in the doctor's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. “Anything. You know that.”

Jim ruffled John's hair.

Sherlock wanted to yell at him to back off, but knew it wouldn't get them anywhere except more pain. He just wanted time with John, that was all.

“Tell you what, Johnny Boy,” Moriarty walked over to the long table Moran had been perusing before and picked something up, “you put this on Sherly and I won't let Seb play with him today.”

John craned his neck to see what the man was holding, but Jim had it carefully hidden behind his back.

Sherlock glared at what Moriarty held behind him. He looked over at John but couldn't see him.

How did they manage to bollocks everything up so well? God damnit!

“What is it?” John asked warily.

“That doesn't matter, Johnny Boy. It's this or Seb.”

Since Sherlock had remained silent, John decided that whatever it was couldn't be too terribly horrible. He hoped. “Alright. I'll do it.”

“Good decision, puppy.” Moriarty gestured to one of his men to undo John's bonds. “Kneel.”

Sherlock frowned and watched as the doctor did what was ordered, he wasn't surprised, John wouldn't want him hurt, but this was bad.

When Moriarty revealed what he was holding, John blanched. It wasn't the worst thing in the world that he could have been told to do to Sherlock, but... bloody buggering fuck! It would be awkward and embarrassing for them both as well as humiliating and a good sight more uncomfortable for Sherlock. He took the cock cage as well as the leather harness from Jim and braced himself, then he looked the detective in the eyes.

“It's okay, John,” Sherlock reassured him. “It doesn't mean anything. Do it.”

His curls were gripped by the madman and yanked back. “Did I give you permission to speak, doggy?”

“No, sir,” Sherlock ground out rather than face his wrath further.

John clamped his jaws tightly shut lest he say something that would get them in even more trouble and set to work. He'd heard of cock cages, of course, and had seen them in porn, but had never put one on someone.

Apparently that fact was evident to Moriarty who chuckled. “Oh, Johnny Boy. You mean you and Sherly have never played with this type of thing? You've never got kinky?”

“You're an idiot,” Sherlock snapped.

Moriarty backhanded him, sending him sprawling. “I didn't ask for your input.”

Sherlock grit his teeth and pushed himself back to his knees.

“What do you say?”

Sherlock refused to respond so Moriarty grabbed his hand and twisted his arm up his back.

“Argh! Sorry, sir.”

“See… good boy.”

John thought he had the bloody thing figured out. He crawled over to the detective and put on his doctor's demeanour. With clinical motions, he locked the cage in place. Next came the damned harness. It's sole purpose was clearly further humiliation and discomfort seeing where the straps were designed to go.

“Oh, wait, Johnny boy.”

Moriarty grabbed something off the shelf and threw it towards John. It was a butt plug. He threw some lube as well.

“Get that inside him, it joins to the harness.”

John caught both items by reflex. This time, he didn't manage to hide his blush.

“How cute, your pet's embarrassed, Sherly.” Moriarty was delighted.

John shot him a hate filled look, then he dropped his doctor's mask in place and set to work doing what had to be done.

Moriarty moved around so he could see Sherlock's face. “Is this a new experience for you, Sherly?”

The detective didn't answer and the criminal mastermind leant forward to grab his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Answer me, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just how new is it, I wonder? Is it merely the novelty of the plug or are you the virgin I believe you to be?”

John froze. He thought he knew the answer to that question, their relationship hadn't got that far, but had shoved the whole matter from his mind to get through the task assigned to him. Damn Moriarty for bringing it up!

“Answer me, Sherly.” Jim tightened his grip in warning when his question was once again met with hesitation.

“I'm a virgin. Not that it matters. It's just transport.”

“You're a virgin, what?” He hissed.

“Sir.”

“Good doggy.”

Sherlock averted his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of John's finger inside him.

If the other man had been doing it under different circumstances... The detective shoved that thought away. He wouldn't let any of this sully his feelings for John. He'd lock those away tight in his Mind Palace where they belonged and keep them safe from Moriarty's predation.

“I'm sorry, 'Lock,” John murmured as he pressed in a second finger.

Sherlock liked the sound of that ''Lock' it was perfect.

“I'm just going to-”

A smack around the back of the ear cut John off from his soothing words.

The doctor caught himself from falling by catching at Sherlock's hip. After he righted himself, he kept his hand there. If he couldn't talk, maybe he could communicate through contact. He rubbed the detective's hip gently as he worked him open, then he withdrew his fingers and picked up the plug. It looked enormous as far as John was concerned.

With a frown, he touched the tip to Sherlock's entrance and started working it in slowly.

Sherlock screwed his face up in discomfort but he didn't want to make a noise, he didn't want John to feel guilty, this wasn't his fault.

He should have known John felt guilty anyway. The first time Sherlock had been breached in this way should have been done as an act of love and certainly not by a hard, unforgiving plug. He should have been opened lovingly then taken carefully whilst being held in a tender lover's embrace - John's embrace - but that had been taken away from them both.

“Shh,” John whispered softly as he buckled the harness up, sliding it through the small gap in the base of the plug.

As John finished buckling the harness in place, Moriarty clapped his hands. “Well, now that Sherly is dressed for bed, you can both curl up on the dog beds in the corner. Don't get any ideas, though. You'll be under surveillance the entire time.” He pointed to the cameras around the room. “See you boys later.”


	2. Brandy

When Sherlock awoke, it was to a bit of a surprise. John was asleep next to him, half on top him, half on the floor.

He glanced to the hook where both their leashes were tied and realised his had changed. He grabbed the collar for a second and realised that it was new as well. There was also a small box to one side.

He didn't mean to, but he jerked John awake when the box at the side of his neck sent a shock through his system. It was shortly followed by Moriarty skipping down the stairs, a small remote in his hands.

“Boys, having you here for two weeks has made you dull. Johnny Boy missing the drugs in your food last night, I expected, but you Sherly-” Moriarty tutted. “I expected better of you. It did make switching out the collars easier.” He pressed a button on the remote and this time it was John who felt the brutal shock. “How do you boys like them?”

Sherlock ground his teeth and gripped John's hand in his. It had been an incredibly long 2 weeks, and their mental capacity to stay on top of the threats and the treatment was beginning to dim. By now, they didn't have an escape plan, per se, but a plan they did have.

The detective decided that today would be the day he would 'break', just as he and John had discussed. At some point, he would tuck himself away in his Mind Palace and leave a rudimentary self to respond to Moriarty. That should serve to make the psychopath think he had won. Later, once they had been rescued or John had managed to break them free, the doctor would utter the secret phrase and bring him back to himself.

John could tell what the detective was thinking. He caught his eye and shook his head. The whole thing was far too risky. It might not even work. It might...

Moriarty pressed two buttons on the remote, shocking them both. “I said, how do you like your new collars?”

They both growled this time. Sherlock even lunged for him only to be yanked back by the leash tying him to the wall.

“Oh, no, no, Sherly! I asked you a question! How do you like you're new collars?!”

“We don't,” the detective said honestly.

“That's too bad. I like them quite a lot.” Jim played with the buttons, pressing one then the other and back again. “Although, it would be a shame for you to get too used to them.” He put the remote in his pocket. “Who wants to play first today and who wants to watch?”

John glanced to the detective.

“You know I want an answer.”

“I do,” John said.

Moriarty stepped forward and slapped the doctor, “We've discussed this, John, respect.”

He curled his lip up at the younger man, but before he could open his mouth he was punched in the face.

The Irishman untied John's leash from the wall and dragged him over to the bench.

“On your knees, Holmes! Hands behind your head.”

Sherlock watched the pair, not speaking. After a quick zap from the collar, he pushed himself to his knees and slipped his hands behind his head.

As his chest hit the bench, John grunted, his breath almost knocked out of him. He knew what was coming and Moriarty didn't disappoint. Soon enough, John was cuffed, wrist and ankle, to the bench. The only question was, would it be the crop or the damned cane. Jim was really getting to be very predictable.

It wasn't very long until Seb joined them. Immediately going to Sherlock, he nudged the cage with his toe, how's your little friend doing trapped down there?”

Sherlock glanced up at him. “Piss off!”

“Um… Sherlock, don't make me come over there.”

“No need, sir.” Seb grinned. “Would you like me to put his little friend on a leash? Then I could bring him over to watch you hurt his pet.”

“Do that.” Moriarty wanted to do something neither man would expect. He'd let himself fall into a routine over the last two weeks. It was time to change things up. Instead of the cane or the crop, he'd try out the flogger, the one with metal bits at the ends.

Seb clipped a chain, to the tip of the cage and Sherlock bit his lip. The main leash hung down his back as Seb dragged him over using his cock as a steering wheel.

With a push down on his shoulder, the detective sank to his knees next to John. Moments later, Moriarty brought the flogger down hard on the doctor's back, causing John to cry out. Sherlock couldn't bear the sight and lunged forward the short distance to cover John's body with his own, jerking the leash from Seb's loose grip as he went.

Moriarty dropped the flogger and grabbed Sherlock by the curls.

“Sherlock- you twat!” John hissed.

Jim kicked the doctor to shut him up and dragged Sherlock over to the cross. He ordered Seb to tie him to it and began his thrashing immediately.

30 strokes in, when his back was bruised and bloody Sherlock sobbed. “Sir, please,” he choked out.

Jim threw the flogger across the attic room, sending it crashing into the wall. He grabbed Sherlock by the curls and pulled his head back sharply. “I'm not interested in anything you have to say!” he shouted, spittle flying. “I should leave you hanging here all day.”

John thrashed in his bonds for a moment, but knew there was no escaping them.

Sherlock's bottom lip was in tatters, but that was the least of his worries. “I'm sorry, sir,” he whispered.

Moriarty started to let go of Sherlock's hair, but something in the detective's eyes stopped him. He kept repeating, “I'm sorry, sir,” over and over in a listless tone of voice.

“Stop it!” Jim shouted, giving Sherlock's head a shake. “Stop!”

Sherlock fell silent immediately. His head bowing, almost submissively.

Jim let him go and stepped back. He glanced over at Seb who stood with his arms crossed watching.

“Is it me or is he a broken pet now?”

“I don't trust it, boss.” Seb shook his head. “Not at all.”

Moriarty frowned and grabbed Sherlock's curls, turning his head so he could look him in the eyes. “I think he really is broken. Interesting. The frailty of genius.” He let go again. “Release Johnny Boy. Have him clean up Sherly then take him down from the cross.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Moriarty turned and gripped Sherlock's curls again, he yanked his head back. “What would you say if I was to crush this?” He wrapped his hands around his caged dick.

“I don't know, sir,” he whispered.

Jim smirked. “I think this calls for a celebration. Seb, what do you fancy for breakfast? I may even allow the dogs downstairs with us.”

“I don't know, but I'm starving, so just about anything sounds good.” He helped John to his feet, then shoved him towards the cross and Sherlock.

“Fucking hell,” the doctor breathed. “If you don't want to risk infection, I'll need saline, antibiotics and sterile bandages.”

“Get him what he needs,” Jim ordered, still smiling at Sherlock and in a very good mood. “Hurry it up, Seb.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim grasped John's leash and made a point to tie it around the base of the cross, not letting him get away for even a second, then he went to a supply closet and put together everything he'd need.

The part of John that was in doctor mode was busy continuing his assessment of Sherlock's injuries. The rest of him was screaming inside his head that the detective had gone forward with his ill-conceived plan. He was panicking and wanted to shout out the secret phrase right here and now to see if it would work, but he daren't.

When Seb joined them with the basket full of supplies, he lengthened John's lead slightly.

“I will be back, doggy, do not try anything.”

Seb waited for John to mutter a small 'yes sir' before he left.

John washed away the blood with the saline as gently as he could, then he applied antibiotic ointment to each cut. It had to hurt, but Sherlock didn't make a single sound. Finally, he applied gauze to the cuts and held them in place by wrapping bandages around the detective's torso. It was awkward to do with him still bound to the cross, but he managed it. When he was done, Sebastian unchained him from the cross and hooked his lead to a loop in the far wall, then he set about taking Sherlock down from the cross.

Sherlock fell to a heap when he was released, unable to hold himself up.

Moriarty appeared at the door. “He can't even stand up alone?”

“Sorry, boss. He just keeled over.”

“Well, let Johnny Boy bring him down for breakfast. I still feel like celebrating.”

John scooped up an unprotesting Sherlock, trying not to knock the bandages on his back.

As they walked he whispered in his ear, not the phrase, but something that should hopefully bring Sherlock back to himself… maybe even a little, but Moran noticed and clipped him on the back of the head.

“Shut it, Watson, you're a dog. Dogs don't speak.”

John was ordered by Moriarty to lower Sherlock to his knees beside his chair. Once he had complied he was ordered to do the same beside him, hold him up more like.

“Seb, cuff them.”

Moran handled them roughly, cuffing first Sherlock then John. The detective was slumped over, his head nearly touching the floor. Seb pulled him up straight and rested him against John. “Don't let him fall,” he said with a wink.

“Moriarty- he's whacked, he just needs to-”

The criminal mastermind slapped him. Hard. “We are celebrating. So shut your mouth.”

John wanted to yell very loudly. He couldn't hold Sherlock up when they were both cuffed.

There was suddenly a forkful of food at Sherlock's mouth. “Open, boy,” Jim ordered.

Much to John's surprise, he did. The detective ate the proffered food without the slightest protest. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. If food was offered, Sherlock would eat.

“Seb, you can feed Johnny Boy. They both need to keep up their strength.”

John glared between the pair as Seb pulled out the seat beside him.

Sherlock had managed to straighten himself up on his own and he stared resolutely at the floor.

“Keep up our strength for what?” The doctor asked as a forkful of food appeared in front of him.

“Broken toys have to be put back together.” Moriarty petted Sherlock's curls. “I want to put Sherly together to look just like me.” He shot John a cold smile. “As for you, you haven't broken... yet.”

“Neither has he,” John hissed.

Moriarty chuckled. He gripped Sherlock's curls and snapped his neck back. He pulled a blade from somewhere and ran it over Sherlock's exposed neck.

“Are you going to fight me, Sherly?”

John waited for that flicker of defiance to spread through his eyes, but it didn't happen, instead Sherlock whispered. “No, sir.”

The doctor thought he might be physically ill. Had his idiot of a friend not left even a modicum of self-preservation in the persona he had crafted for Moriarty? What if Sherlock got himself killed before John had a chance to use the secret phrase? “Sir, please! Don't!” the doctor begged.

Jim gave John a toothy smile, then used the knife to spear a bit of meat and eat it. “Don't worry. I plan to make him just like me. I wouldn't kill him.”

John's sigh of relief was internal. And he realised something as it hit him square in the face. Sherlock didn't believe in self-preservation he believed in John preservation so why on earth would he put 'self-preservation' at the top of the list of things in this fake version of himself?

The little tableau continued for quite some time. Jim fed Sherlock and Seb fed John. It was a full English breakfast, but the doctor couldn't enjoy it, it tasted like sand in his mouth.

When Moriarty was bored of feeding the detective, he pushed him away and into John.

The doctor grunted as Sherlock landed on top of him. He glared daggers at the Irishman only for him to laugh. John had enough upper body strength to straighten up with Sherlock resting on him.

“I'd like to get Sherly cleaned up and put in a nice suit. After that, I'll try teaching him how to go about breaking in a pet properly since he never got around to doing it before.”

Sherlock didn't react and Jim grinned broadly. “This is fantastic. Seb, why didn't we try this before?”

“Not sure, boss, but it sure is fun.”

“Lock them both upstairs,” he ordered his sidekick. “Johnny boy, you'll get him dressed.”

“Why should I? You already said you won't hurt him. And I don't care what you do to me.”

“No, no, no, Johnny Boy. I said I won't kill him.” Jim kicked Sherlock in the side. “I'm all too happy to keep hurting him. Now do as you're told.”

Seb pulled both prisoners roughly to their feet and shoved John towards the attic stairs.

“Can you at least uncuff me?” John asked before they reached the 'secret' door.

Jim sighed. “Ask nicely.”

The doctor glanced towards Sherlock, his face was completely blank. “Please, sir?”

As soon as his hands were free he started rubbing his wrists. “And Sherlock too, sir. So I can get him clean and dressed for you.”

Jim rolled his eyes and waved a hand towards Seb to get on with it.

The detective didn't react to his new found freedom in any way. He just stood there until John took him by the arm and led him up the stairs.

He didn't know whether he should be doing this or not, as he slipped his hand into Sherlock's and interlocked their fingers.

“Lock the door, Seb, they can't go anywhere.”

Moran nodded, and the second they were through the door he locked it.

John waited until they were up the stairs and in the attic. He was sorely tempted to try the secret phrase, but Sherlock had cautioned him not to use it until they were free. He had said he wasn't certain he could perform the feat more than once.

“Sherlock, if you can hear me in there, hang on.” His voice shook. “I'll do my best to take care of you, but you're a complete twat for doing this. I begged you not to risk it, remember?” John guided him towards the bathroom in the corner of the attic. “But, like I said, I'll do my best to take care of you.”

Sherlock's head turned to him for a moment. It made John freeze.

The detective lurched forward and kissed him.

John froze. Again. Even more so than the first time. Did this mean 'both' versions of Sherlock heard everything?

What if he did? He took Sherlock's face gently in his hands and kissed him back, then pulled away and said, “I love you. If you can hear me, remember that. I. Love. You.”

Sherlock nodded once and John pulled him over to where they'd seen Moriarty get clothes out before.

“Pick a shirt, 'Lock.”

He blinked and looked around confused.

Sighing, John stepped forward to do it for him.

He dressed him in a white shirt and black trousers with a matching jacket. They weren't Sherlock's own, but had clearly been tailored for him. There were even shoes in his size.

When he'd finished dressing Sherlock he wanted to hug him but the door opened and there was footsteps on the stairs.

“Enjoy being naked, do you, Johnny boy?” Moriarty asked, looking him up and down.

“Not particularly, no. Sir.” John looked towards the clothes meaningfully. “But I don't see anything that's my size. Sir.” Each honorific had been begrudgingly given.

“Imagine that. It must have been an oversight on my part.” Moriarty smiled. “Oh, wait. I don't think so!'

John sighed. “I had rather assumed that. Sir.”

“I think maybe we could find a harness similar to Sherly's that you can borrow. Holmes, go and kneel in the corner. Johnny come to daddy.”

The doctor made a face at that... daddy. It was disgusting. Still, he walked over to the psychopath, keeping his eyes on Sherlock the whole time. Of course, Jim noticed.

“I'll have to get some sort of head harness for you as well with blinders. I can't have your eyes wandering to Sherly when they should be on me.”

John flinched when Jim raised his arm, but all he did was push down on his shoulders.

“Now, breaking him was far more entertaining than I had anticipated and he lasted not much longer than I had forecasted. However, you,” he paused to press his fingers into John's short hair. “You are better not broken, after all, I only had you to break him. You are much more entertaining full of fight.”

“I'm so glad I can entertain you.” John couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. What the hell, he decided. He was feeling reckless. “You know what fuck you, fuck Seb, and fuck your mother.”

Jim clapped his hands. “That's it, boy, keep it up.”

John pushed himself to his feet and swung a punch at the criminal mastermind.

“Well that was rude!”

John laughed. “Rude. Well you can fuck it all!”

“That is quite enough of the attitude, Johnny boy.”

“Yeah? Yeah, or what?”

Jim pulled his gun from his waistband and paced towards Sherlock who was still facing the wall in the corner.

He pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of Sherlock's skull and clicked off the safety. The kneeling man's hands immediately rose.

The doctor's eyes widened in horror. “No, wait!”

Shifting the gun to the side, Jim pulled the trigger. The bullet shot into the wall just inches from Sherlock's face and the ejected bullet casing just missed him. Even compliant as he was, he flinched from the sound. John just hoped his eardrum was still intact considering how close the gun had been when Moriarty had fired.

The doctor fell to his knees and laced his fingers behind his head in a show of submission, hoping to avoid a repeat performance on Jim's part.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jim turned around.

He walked back towards the now kneeling doctor and tilted his head back with the barrel of the gun, placing it under his chin.

“Don't tempt me.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” John whispered. “Please.”

Jim pulled the trigger again. John's eyes closed and his breath hitched. There wasn't another bullet in the gun. He slumped in relief, almost sobbing.

“Hmm. Maybe next time it will be fully loaded.” Jim put the gun away. He stepped forward and snapped a set of cuffs around John's wrists. “I think you deserve to be punished, Johnny, don't you think?”

“Yes, sir,” he said softly.

“Sherly, come and lie over the bench.”

John's eyes widened.

“You're starting to get it. Here's the choice.” Moriarty grinned. “Either you use the crop on his arse, say 20 hard strikes, or Seb will use it on his bloody back. Your choice.”

John took a deep breath. It wasn't any choice at all. At least he was dressed. “I'll do it,” he agreed.

“Good, now go pull down his trousers and pants while I select a crop.”

John sighed but did as he was told. “I'm sorry, 'Lock, this is my fault.”

“Shut it, Watson, even in this broken and confused condition he's well aware of whose fault this is.”

John knew that, since he had just been cuffed, the chances are he wouldn't be released which meant whatever strikes he hit Sherlock with they wouldn't be at full strength. But his aim wouldn't be at its best either. He'd have to be extra careful. When Moriarty shoved a crop in his hand, John stared at it a moment, then took a practice swing. It was awkward to say the least.

“Get on with it,” Moriarty said with impatience.

John took a deep breath and delivered the first blow, bringing it down lower on Sherlock's arse than he intended to.

By about the 15th stroke John began biting his lip. He wanted to apologise to him again, to soothe and comfort him but he knew for a fact Moriarty stood inches away would likely double the tally.

He finally made it to 20. When Moriarty snatched the crop from him, he fell to his knees. John's eyes were burning with unshed tears, but he refused to cry in front of Jim.

Jim expected John's cock to be hard but peering around, it clearly wasn't.

“Didn't enjoy that, Johnny Boy?”

John wanted to growl a response but he daren't. “No, sir,” he whispered.

“That's such a shame. It does wonders for me when I do it to Seb. Well, to each his own, I suppose. You can help Sherly get dressed again.”

John nodded, slightly cowed, if only for now.

He rubbed the detective's back softly as he helped him pull his pants and trousers back up.

Moriarty's mobile buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was a reminder of a conference he had to attend regarding a large shipment of weaponry. He sighed. “Put Johnny Boy in the kennel. I'll take Sherly to the conference with me. He'll make a lovely conversation piece.”

John looked worriedly at Sherlock, but didn't open his mouth, there was nothing he could say that would get either of them out of their fate.

Seb had appeared at the door and moved to comply immediately.

Moriarty flicked the little button in his pocket and John gasped as the collar zapped him. It was strong enough to knock him out cold.

“Set up the camera of the cage and send the link to my phone,” Jim ordered snapping Sherlock's leash onto his collar.

It only took a small tug to get Sherlock moving. He even crawled, much to Moriarty's delight.

“So eager to please, but we're in a bit of a hurry, so you get to walk down the stairs, Sherly.” Moriarty grabbed a cane from the table as they passed, merely for looks. “Oh, I can't wait to show you off.”

Moriarty opened the boot to reveal the cage inside.

“In,” he ordered, sharply.

Sherlock didn't hesitate, but he did flinch after Jim had hooked his leash inside and slammed the gate shut.

The criminal mastermind sat up front and pulled up an app on his phone. It allowed him to stream footage from the night vision camera in the boot. Sherlock looked so boring just laying there, so he pressed the button on the remote and smiled when the detective jerked in pain. He entertained himself for a while before Seb joined him in the driver's seat.

“Usual place,” Jim ordered, watching Sherlock on the screen, he changed the feed momentarily and John was the same boring stillness.

He looked at the remote and pressed the button, knowing it was futile - they were too far away for it to work.

“Sorry boss, I forgot to mention, there's an app for that on your phone. I fixed it for you a few days ago.”

Moriarty looked at his phone and there it was. He pressed the button named John and the doctor lurched in the feed at the top of the screen. “Remind me to give you a raise, Seb.”

“You don't pay me.”

Moriarty laughed. “Well I'll start paying you, but I'm torn, Sebby. Shall we let our friends think Sherly is on our payroll, or should I demonstrate just how broken he is?”

“Do you think he could pull off anything but a broken dog?”

“I think he would do anything I told him to.”

“Then do it, boss. That would tear his pompous arse of a brother up when he hears about it.”

“That would be a nice bonus.” Moriarty pressed the button on the remote once more. “I rather like that idea.”

As they pulled up at their destination Jim wandered around the car and clicked the boot open.

“Having fun, boy?”

Sherlock blinked up at him, the sudden light making him squint. “Yes, sir.”

“You're such a flatterer.” Moriarty tossed the cane into the boot as Seb helped Sherlock out of the cage. “Of course, we need to button up that shirt the rest of the way, hide that collar.” He did so, then smoothed the shirt down over Sherlock's chest. “Now you look the proper villain. I'll just need you to stand around and scowl a bit.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, not entirely sure what was happening, but not having the freedom to say it.

“And say something other than that. It'll get boring otherwise.”

“You wanted him broken, sir,” Seb pointed out

“Shut up!” Moriarty glared at Sebastian. “Broken doesn't have to mean boring.”

Moran wisely kept his mouth shut.

Moriarty grabbed Sherlock by the arm. “Be polite, but mix up how you do it. Don't act like an automaton.”

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly and he looked around as if for inspiration, it had only been a few hours since he'd 'broken'. “Ok.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “We'll talk about this more later, Sherly, but for now, we need to get inside. Follow me. Stay three steps behind and to my right. When we get inside, stand where Seb points.”

Wincing slightly, for no apparent reason, Sherlock nodded. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

This wasn't good. This he couldn't cope with, what if he messed up and it went wrong? What if he embarrassed Master? He might make it bad on John.

“Oh, for the love of... Sir is ok, but try boss or even Mr. Moriarty. Like I said, mix it up.” Jim started walking towards the building, snapping his fingers as he went. He'd have to reprogram Sherly. It might even be fun.


	3. To the Limit and Beyond

Moriarty entered the building first, Sherlock and Sebastian following close behind. He led them to a posh room and pointed to a spot just behind the impressive leather chair. “You can stand there, Sherly. Seb, pour drinks for all of us.” It would look more believable that the detective had defected to his side with a glass of brandy in his hand.

Sherlock found it fairly easy just standing there, but it got more awkward when brandy was pushed into his hand. He hated the stuff, what if he messed up?

Lounging back in the chair, Jim sniffed at the brandy as he swirled it around. He felt calmer than he had in ages. It had to be his new toys.

There was a knock on the side door. Moriarty called enter and realised they had timed their arrival perfectly. Three men entered and moved to shake Moriarty's hand. When he was done he turned to introduce his own 'men'. “Sebastian Moran.” Jim gestured to Seb. “And my new partner, Sherlock Holmes.” He was pleased to see the men's eyes widen in surprise. “We've decided we were made for each other, haven't we Sherly?”

“Yes, s- boss.”

“You're still a little rough around the edges, aren't you?” One of the strangers commented. 

Sherlock managed a slight snarl and Jim laughed. If Moriarty was laughing, that was surely good. He made himself glare at the man who had commented and took a sip of the brandy. There was something about the man... The detective felt something like a thought try to form inside and quickly shut it down. It wasn't his place to think anymore.

Whatever it was, Jim didn't seem to notice it, he just clapped his hands and pulled up his iPad. “I believe the date we set was the 29th of next month?” He started.

The man Moriarty had addressed, a plant sent in by Mycroft Holmes, gave himself a shake and devoted part of his mind to the business at hand. He had been sent in to gather information on Moriarty's latest schemes. That he should find Sherlock Holmes here... Everyone had been looking for him since he had disappeared and something seemed off with him. “Yes, the 29th. Is the previously arranged location still acceptable?”

The chatter went on for a long while. Too long for the minor government official. He needed to get out of that office and contact Mr. Holmes for orders. He was certain the first order would be to break cover and bring Sherlock in. Still, he'd have to check. There might be extenuating circumstances that would require leaving the younger Holmes in place. He decided he'd follow Moriarty and the others when they left the building, just in case.

Sighing softly when the three men left, Moriarty glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock. “Drink, you shit.” Sherlock hadn't touched the glass of brandy in his hand beyond that single sip. “I was willing to reward you. But now…”

Sherlock's hand shook as he drank the brandy as fast as he could. It burned its way down his throat and settled like fire in the pit of his stomach.

Moriarty was on him and had grabbed him by the curls, causing him to drop the glass. “When I give you something nice, you should appreciate it!” He brought his knee up and hit the detective in the stomach. Sherlock fell to his knees with a grunt when he was released. “Strip him, Seb, doggy can remain naked from now on.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He watched as Jim left to bring the car around and then ordered Sherlock out of his clothes. It didn't take long as Sherlock was completely compliant.

The minor government official watched as Sherlock Holmes was dragged from the building by a leash attached to an uncomfortable looking collar and he was completely naked, but not trying to hide it. When Moriarty's car pulled out, he pulled into traffic behind him. He was excellent at tailing people without being seen. He was also already on his phone waiting to be put through to Mycroft Holmes.

Seb was sat in the back with Sherlock as Jim drove.

“Cuff him,” Moriarty ordered. “You have seriously let me down, Sherly. You verged on normal and then you had extremely expensive brandy left in your glass like a little boy.”

Sherlock looked down as he shivered. It was so cold he could see his breath and the car hadn't warmed up yet. He had tried to be good, but he was in trouble. That probably meant that John was in trouble. He gave a jolt as Moriarty hit the button on the remote control, sending a shock through the collar.

Jim laughed. “Maybe you were right, Seb. All he's worth is being my slave. He's not got the skill to be a full-fledged member of my organisation.”

Looking in the mirror at the detective, Jim's eye was caught by a vehicle a few cars behind him. He had seen it just a few blocks back. With a laugh, he made an abrupt turn. The car followed. After that, it didn't take Moriarty long to shake the car in the London traffic.

“Rerouting, sir?” Seb asked with a slight chuckle.

“Looks like our little doggy attracted some unwanted attention. I think I've lost whoever it was.”

The government official swore as he lost sight of Moriarty's car. “I lost them, sir.”

In his office, Mycroft hung his head and ran a hand over his thinning hair. At least he knew what had become of his brother. Now he would move both heaven and earth to find him.

The minor government official drove around aimlessly for a while looking for a sight of the car, but with no luck after an hour, he drove back to the club. He was going to pay for this when his boss lost his temper.

Seb shoved Sherlock down onto his knees in the floor of the car. “Just in case someone's looking for him, boss.”

“I like the way you think, Seb. Besides, he's less comfortable that way.” Jim started humming Danny Boy as he drove them back home.

John was still unconscious when Sherlock was dragged by the curls into the attic. The detective looked over at him almost longingly, but he daren't let Master see that look on his face.

Jim bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked at the doctor. “I do hope the shocks weren't too much for Johnny Boy's heart. Check him, Seb.” He dragged Sherlock over to the corner and threw him down so that he landed in a sprawl.

Jim played with the cage around Sherlock's cock.

“Comfy?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. He was sure now they were back in the attic he had to speak like that to Master.

“He's fine, boss, probably didn't enjoy it much, though,” he added with a dry laugh.

Moriarty stood and went to fetch something, then came back to the detective. “Tell you what Sherly.” He held up an enormous dildo, its girth was equal to his wrist. “I'll give you five minutes to work this inside you. If you can't manage it, I'll do it for you, then I'll cut off one of John's fingers.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, staring up at him. He hesitantly took it from his grip.

Moriarty tapped a button then threw a stop watch on the floor in front of him.

“I won't chop his finger off when he's asleep either.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated. Honestly, he was just glad he was being given a chance before things were taken out on the doctor. He didn't have any lube. At a loss for what else to do, Sherlock licked the dildo, trying to get it as wet as possible. He hurried, knowing he wouldn't have long to work it in. He did have the small respite of the fact his hole was still slightly loose from the current plug. He worked it out quickly and had the tip of the new dildo there before he had a chance to clench up.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock pushed the dildo into himself. He kept up the pressure as he bore down on it, despite the pain. When it became too much and he almost quit, he thought of Moriarty cutting off one of John's fingers and kept working the dildo into himself. His whole body shook with the effort and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

When John awoke, it was to Sherlock curled up beside the cage, his collar chained to it like a dog's would be. He was crying softly to himself, not moving. Fucking hell, John hated Moriarty.

The doctor looked around quickly and saw they were alone. “Sherlock. Sherlock!” The detective didn't respond. Muttering invective under his breath, John tried to see what was wrong with his boyfriend. He could barely reach him. When he touched Sherlock, the detective flinched.

He'd had enough of this God damned cage. He manoeuvred his fingers through the bars and then pushed the latch up and out of the way. If the criminal mastermind didn't want him out of the cage, he would have padlocked it and he would have left the shock thing on too.

He shuffled around, trying to ignore the throb in his own head as he tried to lift Sherlock's head up and into his lap. As he did so, John noticed the massive dildo that still stuck from Sherlock's hole. He started to gently remove it, but the detective sprang to life and moved as far away from him as much as his collar would allow, despite the pain it obviously caused him.

“He'll cut off fingers. He'll hurt my John. Stay away. He'll hurt John.”

“Shh,” John soothed. “It's me. And I'm fine. Well my head aches… but that's kind of normal by now.”

Sherlock's eyes flickered open and he became more alert… more awake. “John…”

“That's right.”

“I don't want him to hurt you.” Sherlock hesitated, then crawled gingerly back over to rest his head in the doctor's lap.

“Alright. Alright.” John started stroking Sherlock's hair, trying to soothe him as best he could. Without knowing the rest of the story, he was afraid to do anything more. He let Sherlock calm down for a long while. “Apart from the obvious, what did he do to you, 'Lock?”

Sherlock whimpered and turned his face into the doctor's stomach, not answering.

John hated this. He was sorely tempted to use the secret phrase right then, but he heard the attic door open the sound of two men entering. There was no way he could get back in the cage in time and, even if he could, Moriarty would know he hadn't stayed in there. He settled himself as comfortably as he could and curled Sherlock into his lap.

Jim and Sebastian walked over and stared down at them. The silence was deafening. Moriarty unclipped Sherlock's leash from the cage, then used it to jerk the detective off of John's lap. “I NEVER gave you permission to leave the cage on your own, Johnny.” Moriarty kicked out and caught him on the thigh.

John thought up a quick lie. “He wasn't moving, sir,” he said quickly. “He didn't even look to be breathing. I had to check. I called out, but no one came.”

“Hmm.” Moriarty crouched and looked at Sherlock. “Is that so?”

The detective huddled in on himself, afraid to do or say anything that might anger Jim.

Moriarty grabbed him by the curls and yanked his head back. “I asked you a question. Is that so?”

“Sorry, sir,” he offered quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Shock, sir. I'm sorry.”

“Shock, over a little TOY!” Jim put his hand in his pocket and pressed two buttons on the remote, sending electric shocks through their collars. “I'm bored, Seb,” he said, tossing the remote onto a table top. “Do something to Johnny Boy so he'll regret leaving his cage without permission, but don't cut anything off. Not yet.”

Seb grinned. “Sure.”

“But I really had to check on him,” John argued.

Moriarty grabbed him by the throat and pulled him upright but John wasn't deterred.

“Admit it, you'd hate for him to go and die on you!” The doctor challenged.

“Oh, I admit it. If you were to let him die, I'd feed you your heart while it was still beating. But... you still have to do what I tell you and stay where I put you so... You're fucked no matter what, dear doctor.”

John's eyes darted down to see Sherlock. He'd pushed himself up on his knees, no doubt feeling the full extent of that dildo up his arse.

“Yes, sir,” John whispered. He had been right, he hated Moriarty more and more as time went on.

Sebastian came back with a cane and directed the doctor to hold out his hands face down. He pulled back and brought the cane down across John's knuckles causing him to cry out in pain.

“Hold those hands steady, Johnny Boy,” Jim called out with glee.

Sebastian brought the cane down four more times.

Moriarty had moved over beside the kneeling Sherlock. His hand once again in his curls. “Open that cage again, John, and it won't be a cane touching your knuckles. It'll be a blade.”

“But it didn't shock me!”

“What was that?”

Seb raised the cane again.

“Yes, sir,” John said hurriedly. He wasn't unused to such term of address, but the people he spoke it to were usually worthy of the authority.

“As for you, you pathetic excuse for a genius. I have a surprise for you.” Moriarty wrapped his hand around Sherlock's leash and dragged him across the room. The detective fought not to let the dildo fall from his hole, he dreaded what would happen if it did.

Sebastian set a chair in the middle of the room. It had a large dildo mounted on it.

Jim grinned. “Since you did so well with that thing inside you, you can take it out and sit on this one. Sebby and I will watch you fuck yourself senseless on it.”

“Sir, please-”

Jim slapped him. “You can't manage anything, can you? You couldn't even act like a normal person earlier. You couldn't even drink a shot of brandy. Fucking useless.” He bent him over and pulled the dildo free. “Now sit.”

Sherlock let himself be pushed down on the obscenely jutting thing, all the way until his arse hit the wood of the chair. There were tears on his cheeks that Moriarty wiped away.

“You poor thing.” Jim smoothed back his hair with gentle movements. “I know, I know. I broke you, didn't I? All you have to do to please me right now is fuck yourself on that. If you do that, I won't yell or cut any bits off.”

Sherlock nodded jerkily. “Yes, sir.” His gaze flickered to John. “Please, sir.”

John was on his knees, Seb's gun at his neck. His bright red knuckles held loosely in a set of leather cuffs that he had found from somewhere.

Jim ignored John, so, slowly, the detective began to move. His hole ached, but it had been well stretched, so he could take the dildo easily enough. The Sherlock that was locked safely away in his Mind Palace would have been outraged and humiliated by the entire scene. This Sherlock only worried that his leg muscles would give out before Jim was satisfied.

Moriarty turned his attention away from his newly found slave, to John. “What about you? Are you going to fight me anymore? Your boyfriend is broken, what have you got left to fight for?”

John shook his head and let himself cry. He didn't want Moriarty to guess that he did have a reason to hold onto his sanity. He had to maintain his reason so he could speak the secret phrase in his boyfriend's ear at just the right moment and set him free. If it worked… he had to ignore that. It would work! It had to.

“Good. Crawl forward.”

Cautiously the doctor began to move forward.

“Take off the cage and suck his cock.”

John froze for a moment, then he began to move again, the gun an unforgiving prod. He started planning the other two men's deaths right then and there. They were stealing something precious from him and Sherlock. He worked with shaking hands and got the cage off.

“Ah, ah, ah, no touching.” Moriarty stepped forward and uncuffed him, moving his hands around behind and rejoining them. “Now, I know Sebby's gun doesn't worry you anymore. Because you know I don't want either of you dead. But he won't aim for your head. First he'll aim for your knees. Then Sherlock's.”

Despite the threat, Seb pressed the gun to the back of John's neck pushing him towards Sherlock's now free cock.

It was impossible to pretend that this was being done for any reason other than Moriarty's sick pleasure. John tentatively gave Sherlock's cock a lick, then opened his mouth and engulfed it. Sherlock whimpered, but still managed to rise and fall on the fake dick up his arse. It made it for John like he was thrusting into his mouth. He closed his eyes and imagined they were at home; at Baker Street. He pretended he wasn't, he didn't want Moriarty to know that he had his own escape in his head. The only problem was that the sounds Sherlock was making were all wrong. They weren't sounds of desire, they were whimpers and soft, broken cries. John suddenly knew just how he wanted Moriarty to die.

Jim grabbed the back of John's head and pushed down further onto Sherlock's cock. “Show a little enthusiasm!”

Sherlock couldn't resist. Couldn't fight it any longer. He came instantly, to Moriarty's chuckles.

“What a good little slave doggy he is!”

John, still held in place by Jim, was forced to swallow. As it was Sherlock, he wasn't opposed to the act in principle, but they had planned on getting tested before taking such a step. It didn't fucking matter. Having the intimacy of the moment, this first time, stolen from them bothered him more. Sherlock not really being there for it shattered John and was almost enough to break him.

Jim pulled him back by the hair. “You did a good job doggy. Holmes, you can stop bouncing up and down now.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

Sebastian laughed at how Sherlock just slumped there on the chair with the dildo still impaling him. Without further orders, he didn't know what to do.

“Ok, Johnny Boy, take my pet and put him on the cross over in the corner, then hose him off. Clean him up real nice for me. You can even dress him.” Moriarty headed to his sidekick and pushed him towards the door. “In fact, Johnny, clean yourself up. There should be something that fits you now.”

John spun on his toe. “Sir?” He asked in confusion.

“We're going to have a nice sit down meal together, the four of us, Johnny Boy, so DO IT!” With that Jim and Seb disappeared downstairs.

John glared after the two men, wishing he had his SIG, then he gave himself a shake and got to business. He'd have to put Sherlock on the cross because there was a camera aimed at the fucking thing and they'd know if he didn't.

“Can you walk?” He asked the younger man.

He nodded his head once, jerkily.

“Come on then, you heard the dick bag.”

Ever so gingerly, Sherlock stood. His legs trembled, but with the doctor's help, he made it to the cross. The detective sagged in his bonds when John fastened wrist cuffs to him and to the cross. He may have most of his weight on his arms, but it was better than having it balanced on his arse. John decided to skip the idea of a hosing down and instead collected a bucket of warm water and a washcloth.

The detective closed his eyes. In his limited world, it felt good to be touched with something other than rough hands. He knew it wouldn't last. It never did. Soon enough, Master would do something horrible to him again.

“Shh,” John soothed, wiping him softly. He then quickly dried him off and pulled out a selection of shirts. “I know you didn't choose last time, but maybe this time?”

Sherlock stared at John, blinking slowly. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Right.” The doctor set aside the jewel toned shirt. He thought it might be too provocative. Unbuckling the cuffs that held Sherlock to the cross, John helped him into the plain white shirt. He had to help the detective to stand as he seemed completely drained. He scooped him up, despite his own aches and carried him over to the bench. It would be easier for the both of them. “First foot,” he said reaching for a pair of socks.

That's how it went, John dressed him like a child. When he had finished, he tried to tame Sherlock's curls as best he could, but it was hopeless and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Are you finishing acting like girls up there?” Came a yell from the door. Moran's yell.

“Nearly!” John replied, teeth gritted. He quickly threw on a shirt and jeans.

When they were both completely dressed, he called through the attic door. “We're ready, sir.” Ready for what, he wasn't certain.

“Aren't they pretty boys, Seb?” Moriarty asked him with a grin. “Even the army man looks alright not naked.”

John's skin crawled. He'd like nothing more than to punch Moran, or both of them but that was put of the question. He glanced over at the table that had been set. There was nothing for it but to get through the upcoming meal and try to sustain as little damage as possible.


	4. Puppy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings and tags.

The table before them had been set for four people. Moriarty gestured to the far seat. “Sherly can sit here and Johnny Boy can sit across from him.” He took his place at the head of the table as Seb took the remaining seat. “I've brought in the help tonight, boys, so relax and enjoy.”

Sherlock didn't speak, just stared at the empty plate in front of him.

John, however, was as confused as it was possible to be but he tried not to show it, it would be one more thing for Moriarty to taunt him with.

A young woman came out dressed as a waitress. She served them salad with a creamy purple salad dressing. There was already water at each of their places.

The doctor hesitated. Maybe Jim was going to poison them. But that made no sense. He glanced across the table at Sherlock, then he shrugged and took a bite of the salad.

As soon as Jim had taken a bite, Sherlock did, although he looked perplexed by the cutlery; the last few weeks they'd been fed through either a bowl on the floor or Jim/Seb's fingers.

That's how the entire meal went. Food being placed before them and Sherlock waiting to see what Moriarty did before doing the same himself. It was like watching a child emulate his parents at a fancy dinner. Sherlock doing such a thing was disturbing to say the least.

When Moriarty was done, he got to his feet and walked around to the younger of his new slaves, he began to wipe around his mouth for no reason, before he was grabbed by the curls, pulled from the chair and pushed to his knees.

“You didn't eat very much, Sherly. Why is that? Is it a comment on my hospitality?” Moriarty's voice was low and dangerous.

“Sir, it's just-” John's voice was cut off by a slap from Seb.

“Don't interrupt the boss.”

“Well, boy?”

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“That didn't answer my question.” Jim was being very patient. Too patient.

“I wasn't hungry, sir. I never… I mean, I didn't used to eat much… before, sir.”

“You always were a thin one, but strong. As long as you don't start losing weight, I'll believe you. If you do, I'll make you eat.” He ran a finger along one of Sherlock's sharp cheekbones. “We have to keep you pretty. I might want to trade you for something, after all.”

“But-” John instantly protested, earning himself another smack.

“Be a good boy, and go on all fours for me.”

Sherlock fell forward immediately.

“Walk doggy.”

John just had to remind himself that this wasn't the 'real' Sherlock.

He had thought for a moment that their chance had come during the meal. They had been given knives to cut their food with, but a man had stepped in and held a gun on them the entire time. If only Jim would get careless just once. Plus, he needed Sherlock in a more… suitable frame of mind. Yes, he could probably get to Jim, but that left Seb and in the part of his head where Sherlock had retreated to, he wouldn't be able to do that.

Moriarty gave a whistle. “Come here doggy.” He waited until the detective had crawled to him. “I know how naughty you can be. Why don't you hump the good doctor's leg and work out those bad tendencies?”

John's eyes flashed with anger.

“In case you hadn't noticed, Johnny, he isn't Sherlock anymore. He's a toy. He's going to be my pet. My dog, and you, you are going to be his trainer, along with myself and Seb, of course.”

Even 'broken' as he was, Sherlock looked down as he crawled closer to John.

The doctor reached out and ran his hands through the detective's curls. “It's okay. Go ahead.”

Sherlock grabbed John's thigh and began thrusting against him awkwardly.

Jim started clapping. “Look, Seb, a proper doggy!”

Seb was grinning from ear to ear.

“Stop!” Jim ordered. Sherlock ceased moving completely. “Heel!”

The detective looked around confused, only the finger Jim was pointing down beside him gave Sherlock an inkling of what the order meant.

He rushed over and knelt beside Jim, hoping that was what his master wanted.

Moriarty petted Sherlock's curls. “Good doggy. If doggy keeps doing so well, he doesn't have to sleep in the kennel tonight.”

“Can I try?”

Jim looked up and saw Seb still grinning.

“Sure.”

“Heel!”

Sherlock looked confused, but he crawled to Moran's side and knelt.

“Oh, Jim. This is fun.” Sebastian was grinning broadly.

“We should teach him to fetch. And do some of those circus things dogs do.”

John sat to the side, his hands in fists.

“Oi, Watson. You try it.”

“But-”

“Now!” Seb slapped Sherlock for effect.

“Come here, 'Lock,” he ordered, but Jim stepped forward and pressed his foot against Sherlock's caged cock.

“Try again.”

“Sherlock, heel.”

The detective crawled over to John's side and knelt. It made the doctor feel physically ill.

“Have you ever trained a dog before, Watson?” Jim asked with glee.

“No, sir.”

“Well, we're lucky this one's clever. I've had one or two stubborn bastards, no amount of training or time can get them to do what you want. He seems different. Are you different, boy?”

Sherlock looked up. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Doggy, take those nice clothes off, then Johnny Boy will take you out for a walk. I'm sure you'll be a good puppy and pee for him when he gets you outside. Seb.” Jim snapped his fingers and Moran tossed him a leash and collar. “For when you walk Sherly.” He handed them to John.

“You can't be-” this time it was a punch rather than a slap.

“When will you learn, Watson? You do what I tell you. When I tell you.”

Sherlock had already got rid of his clothes and placed them in a pile beside him.

“Now leash the doggy and take him for a walk.”

John crouched down by Sherlock and whispered an apology as he buckled the collar in place and attached the leash.

Seb guided them out to a small grassy area with high stone walls and three guards standing watch. There would be no escape from out there.

John sighed. “Come on, 'Lock, let's get this over with.”

He led Sherlock to the furthest tree.

“Do you need to pee?”

Sherlock nodded slightly.

“I'm sorry, babe, but you're going to have to go here. As much as I'd like, I can't get us out of this.”

John grimaced, certain he would hear about it when the detective failed to raise a leg like a dog would but instead went around to the other side and used the tree for shelter. He just hoped the punishment would fall on him, not Sherlock.

Except there was no punishment, when they got back inside, Jim was clapping.

“From now on, Sherly, when you need to go pee pee, Watson is the only one who can take you.”

John held his breath. It could have gone so much worse than that. At least it wouldn't be Seb or Jim taking him out for 'walks'.

“You're to crawl up to him, turn your back and wag your tail.”

“Tail?” John was disgusted by the idea.

“Oh yeah, new toy! Seb fetch it. You see, when I realised I couldn't utilise a broken consulting detective to my advantage in the criminal world I needed a new purpose for him. He's going to be my pet.” He caught the butt plug that was thrown through the air.

“Toy, Holmes,” he wedged it into Sherlock's mouth. “Ask nicely, and I'll let you put it in him.”

The doctor looked on with horror. He couldn't possibly do that to Sherlock, but if he didn't... “May I be the one to put it in sir?” John's stomach heaved. There was nothing wrong with this type of play in consensual relationships. This was anything but.

Jim tossed him the plug. “And if doggy needs to poo, he'll have to ask nicely for the tail to be removed. I think he should bark twice should the need arise.”

He grabbed Sherlock's curls and yanked his head back, “is that clear doggy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try 'master'. You're a dog, after all.”

“Yes, master.”

“That's better. Now go to your trainer.”

Sherlock crawled over to John and rested his chest against the floor so that his arse was presented.

Jim clapped excitedly. “Whenever you're told to present, you do just that, doggy.”

“Yes, master,” Sherlock repeated.

John bit his tongue to stop from complaining. This was getting worse by the second.

“I can't put this in without lube.”

“Ask nicely.”

“May I have some lube, sir? It would be good to have a tube so I won't have to disturb you every time it's needed.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “That's forward thinking. Seb, give Johnny Boy a small tube of lube.”

The doctor made sure to keep an eye on where it came from so he could snatch some without getting caught in the future.

“This may be a little cold, Sherlock.”

“Watson, he doesn't care.”

Maybe this version of the detective didn't care, but John did. He squeezed some lube on his fingers and opened Sherlock faster than he liked, then he slicked up the dildo and pushed it in. John did his best to ignore the 'tail' that protruded from the end of the toy. Just the sight of it made him furious.

When John was done Moriarty patted his lap.

“Heel, boy.”

Sherlock scrambled over and knelt up beside him.

“Good doggy.”

John took half a step forward when Jim started petting Sherlock's curls. If he had a knife, he'd cut off the psychopath's hands.

“You are just the cutest thing, yes you are,” Moriarty said in a baby voice. He took a tennis ball out of his pocket and threw it. “Go fetch, Sherly.”

Jim clapped as the tail in Sherlock's arse wiggled as he moved.

“Well done, Johnny. Look what you did to him!”

The doctor's hands were fisted so tight that his fingernails cut into his palms. He kept telling himself that he had had no choice, that it was really Moriarty's doing. He turned away from the sight lest he be physically ill.

“Drop,” Jim ordered.

The ball fell from Sherlock's mouth and bounced on the floor a few times.

“I'm bored,” Moriarty declared.

He had only thrown it a few times, but knowing this could happen whenever he wanted…

“Might I make a suggestion, boss?” Moran inquired.

Jim nodded graciously. “Go ahead.”

“Don't people put muzzles on dogs? I think he'd look pretty wearing one.”

“You're right.”

He snatched up the leash that was dangling and began yanking him back towards the attic.

Seb stood up and grabbed John's arm, ramming it up his back to get his compliance. Moran growled into the doctor's ear, “You're lucky Jim was so busy playing with his pet. If he had noticed you had turned your back-” He twisted John's arm viciously. “He would have taken his displeasure out of your hide. You're lucky I'm loyal to Jim, or I'd make you blow me to keep quiet about it. As it is, I'll think of something you can do to amuse me.”

By the time they reached the attic Sherlock was knelt in one corner, the straps of a gag buckled up behind his head.

Jim was playing with a machine in the middle. “Which one do we use it on?” He asked Seb, ignoring the way the doctor was being held.

“Seeing as Sherly has that lovely tail, it would be a shame to have to remove it. Use it on the doctor.”

John had only seen machines like that one in porn. He couldn't help struggling to get away at the thought of it being used on him.

“You or him, Johnny.”

He swallowed, his gaze flickering to Sherlock. “Me.”

“You can do better than that.”

“Sir. Me, sir.”

“Excellent choice. Get undressed.” Jim beckoned Seb over and put his arm around him. “Take your time. We're in no hurry.

John began removing his clothing. The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that he was sparing this being done to Sherlock.

The detective stayed in the corner, not moving or speaking.

When John was fully undressed Jim pointed to the bench. “Pull it over, boy.”

John ground his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn't crack one of them. He walked over and pulled the bench to where Jim had indicated. Deciding to get it over with, he bent over the thing and braced himself.

Jim tied him down to the bench and then laughed. He wandered over to Sherlock and pushed his hand into his curls, tugging him back so he ended up looking up at him upside down.

“What do you think, doggy? Will John enjoy what's coming next?”

The detective stared at Jim. How was he supposed to give an answer? When the psychopath tugged on his hair again, he made a pained sound deep in his throat. He shook his head in the negative, despite the painful pull on his hair.

“Well, that's good, because we don't want him to like it, do we?” He spun the kneeling man around to face the bound doctor.

John's head was facing their direction and Sherlock's eyes, despite his broken state, showed his worry.

“Sebby, let's get the show going!”

Moran pulled the machine in place after dribbling lube between John's arse cheeks. He coated the dildo that was attached to the machine, then made the doctor ease himself back so that it pressed at his entrance.

Seb patted John's arse and then walked around in front of him.

“What's worse, I wonder? The fact you're about to be fucked by a machine and not Sherly or the fact the boss' dog is watching.”

John closed his eyes and reminded himself that he had asked for this to happen to him and not Sherlock. He was just grateful Jim hadn't decided to do it to the detective anyway.

“Make him heel, Watson,” Jim ordered.

“What?”

Moriarty nodded and Moran slapped him.

“Make. Him. Heel,” he repeated, reaching forward to flick on the machine.

The doctor grunted, but knew not to ignore the direct order.

“Heel, 'Lock.”

When Jim let his curls go, he scampered across the room to kneel beside the bench.

“Seb, remove the dog's muzzle, he's going to suck Johnny boy while you fuck his mouth. This is going to be quite a show.”

John fought down a groan. He should have known that Jim would find a way to make things worse. The dildo plunged into him and he gasped at the burning stretch. He wanted to get away from it, but he couldn't. When he felt Sherlock crawl under him and begin to awkwardly lick and suck at his cock, John felt like crying.

Well, he did until Seb grabbed him by his too long hair and plunged in.

“If you even think about coming without permission Watson, I'll do this to him. Every day for a month.

“Yes, sir.” John knew it would be a struggle between will power and simple biology. He bit his lip as the dildo kept stroking over his prostate and Sherlock started to work his cock in earnest.

Seb thrust in again, not willing to let him have much of a rest.

Jim found a chair from somewhere and collapsed back into it.

“You can do better than that, Johnny boy.”

John didn't pretend the cock in his mouth was Sherlock's. The thought was too vile to allow. Instead, he imagined biting down on it hard enough to draw blood while in reality, he started licking and sucking Seb's cock.

“God, he's good,” Seb panted. “This was a fantastic idea of yours, sir.”

Jim grinned. “I know. I'm fantastic. Problem, Holmes?” He added as Sherlock's gaze flickered over to him.

He pulled off the doctor's cock long enough to respond. “No, master.”

When Seb came, John gagged, then had to swallow or choke. He could hear Jim laughing and clapping. “Bravo! Bravo! You can come now, Johnny Boy!”

The doctor grunted almost on command and came into Sherlock's mouth.

The detective panted and swallowed.

“Heel, boy!” Jim barked.

Before he had a chance to recover Sherlock crawled across the room and knelt beside the criminal mastermind.

He snagged him by the collar.

“I had no idea how much fun this would be,” Moriarty gushed. “I can't wait until tomorrow.”


	5. Hope Defeated

As soon as Moriarty had hold of Sherlock's collar he pulled him towards the door, leaving the machine thudding in and out of the doctor.

“Use the muzzle, Seb. We'll teach him some new tricks downstairs while Johnny boy continues his fucking.”

The doctor growled his protest, little good did it do him. It only encouraged Seb to slap him on the thigh as he walked passed to fetch the muzzle.

“Enjoy it, Johnny,” Moran said with a wicked grin. “We might come up with something less pleasurable next time.”

It wasn't that pleasurable this time! Yes it had been to start but now he was just too sensitive all over.

Seb pushed the muzzle into John's mouth. “Enjoy, Johnny.”

He jogged to catch up with Jim and Sherlock who were already down the stairs.

Sherlock didn't know what to expect next. He didn't try to guess. He just waited, kneeling, at Moriarty's feet, his caged cock, rather hard in its confines. He ignored it, however.

Jim had his fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair. Just for fun, he started yanking the detective's head this way and that.

The real Sherlock was too far hidden to react in any other way than acceptance.

“Time to learn some new tricks, puppy. Seb fetch the remote to his collar.”

The detective watched Seb find the remote without any real emotion attached. He didn't react until the remote was in Jim's hand and the psychopath had pressed the button long and hard. The pain was severe enough that he fell to his side, whimpering.

“Lay down,” Jim said with a grin. “Now stay, while me and Sebby go and get some beers.”

By the time they returned Sherlock hadn't moved but had begun an intermittent tremor he couldn't control.

“Oh, look, the poor doggy is scared, Sebby.” Jim kicked out at Sherlock, hitting him in the thigh. “Heel, doggy.” He tossed the remote to Seb as the detective struggled to kneel at his feet.

Despite the state he was in, Sherlock obeyed, ignoring the fact he was still vibrating.

“Er, boss, I don't think that's fear. I think it's shock or pain.”

Jim shrugged. “You call it what you like. I'll call it what I like.” He waited a moment. “Oh, all right, you can turn the collar off. I'll be wanting his full attention anyway.”

Glancing at the switch he realised that the button had gotten stuck. He pulled the batteries out of the back and Sherlock sagged on his knees.

“I think you might want John to check him over. He doesn't look well.”

“So? He's our toy. My toy.”

“You didn't want him physically broken just mentally! What happens if you need to give him back to Mycroft? He won't want a broken brother!”

Jim stamped at the floor. “Fine. Go get the fucktoy off the machine and bring him down.” He glared at Sherlock. “You're a lot of trouble for a dog. Maybe too much trouble. I could send you to your brother in a body bag.”

“Yes, Master,” he whispered.

That confused the consulting criminal. He pulled him upright by the collar.

“You really have broken, haven't you? You just don't care anymore.”

“Master?” Sherlock looked at him with a confused expression.

Seb entered the room, pulling John roughly by his left arm. “Check him.” He thrust him forward so he landed on the floor by the detective.

John ignored the pain he was in in order to check on Sherlock.

“What is it?” He asked the detective. When all the man did was stare at the floor he glanced up at Moriarty.

“Sir, what happened?” All the time he spoke he could feel the way Seb had just yanked him off the dildo and his arm was still throbbing.

Jim waved his hand in the air as if it were no matter. “The remote got stuck. My doggy got a bit longer a shock than I intended. Seb was concerned.” He threw himself down in a chair and looked bored.

John turned on the other man. “You were concerned?”

Seb punched him. Hard. “Shut it, Watson, just fix him!”

The doctor filed that bit of information away. It wasn't much, but it would do. He turned his attention to Sherlock, checking his vitals and pupil reactivity.

“His heart's racing, I suggest you don't use that thing for a while. A few days at least.” Nothing like being overcautious.

“It's fun!” Jim snapped. “What am I supposed to do in the mean time?”

“Something that won't kill your pet,” Seb said before the doctor could reply. “If Mycroft's little brother shows up dead, we're next. Play with him. Keep him stuffed at both ends. Get a paint ball gun and use him for target practice. That would sting.”

Jim glanced up at his 'boyfriend' and frowned. “What is it with you?”

Seb grumbled something and kicked Sherlock as he passed him on the way to the kitchen. “I need another beer.”

Jim gave John a long suffer look. “Is your boyfriend so much trouble? Seb's always been temperamental. Perhaps he needs a good assassination job to put him to rights. It's been a while.”

“My boyfriend is kneeling at your feet like a dog!” John snapped.

Sherlock didn't react to John's temper, nor his words, just stayed where he was curled up in a ball, his knees tucked up beneath him.

Ever so casually, Moriarty punched John in the face. He barely moved to do it. “I don't know why I even asked for your opinion.” Pulling out his phone, he made several photos of the two of them. “I'm getting bored with this game. Maybe I'll sell you both.” He pocketed his phone. “Then again, maybe I won't.”

Sherlock let out a broken whimper as he shivered.

John grit his teeth to ask what he needed to. “I'm sorry, sir, but can I have permission to get dressed and to dress Sherlock? I don't think being cold will help his condition.”

“You can get dressed, the doggy only gets a blanket.”

Seb came back in with the beer. Hearing what Jim had said, he went and adjusted the thermostat so that it would be a bit warmer in the room. He did it all without Jim knowing and he had no idea why he did it either, he told himself he was feeling chilly.

When John returned with a pair of trousers and a top on, he carried the blankets from the dog beds.

Moriarty was on the phone as he tried to get Sherlock comfy. They ended up on the floor, Sherlock's head in the doctor's lap.

“Seb!” Jim yelled when he hung up.

“Yeah?”

“I've got a job for you. Double hit sound good?”

“Sure, boss,” Seb agreed, but he didn't sound enthusiastic.

Jim noticed, but dismissed it. He knew the job would perk his Sebby right up.

The pair on the floor ignored the other men as Moriarty paced across the room and wrapped his arms behind Seb's head. He brought his lips roughly to the other man's and didn't let go.

John's heart ached for his boyfriend and he bent to place a kiss on the detective's forehead. “Hang in there, babe. If you can hear me, hang in there.”

When Jim let Seb go, the sniper forced a smile and fetched his gear. There were far more interesting things going on here. With a shrug, he went to do his job.

Jim watched him go then turned to the men on the floor. “Beer's in the kitchen,” he said, walking through into the other room.

“I think he's getting bored,” John whispered. He hoped that was good news for them.

Sherlock interpreted Jim's words as an order and started crawling after the psychopath.

“No, no. Stay here, 'Lock. Maybe he'll go do something else and ignore us.”

“But, master-”

“-didn't give an order. It was an offer.” He could see the dilemma of the real Sherlock hiding away. Anything and everything said to him, if it could be interpreted as an order, it would be.

The detective still tried to crawl to the kitchen. John was forced to grab him around the waist and hold on. He had to buy them every moment of peace he could.

He didn't realise that Sherlock had fallen asleep on his lap once he had finally settled.

He kept running his hand through his hair thinking about the pain in his arse that was getting impossible to ignore in their position.

What John wouldn't give for a hot bath and a long soak. He'd order one for Sherlock too, then they would sleep for a month in the detective's big bed, wrapped around one another in comforting affection.

Thinking on it, Moriarty had disappeared he might be gone for the evening…

John groaned as he jerked the man on his lap awake and stood up. He took Sherlock through to the bathroom he had seen Seb use a few days ago.

John let the detective kneel on the bathroom floor whilst he found a flannel and wet it. He wrung the excess moisture out, then began wiping Sherlock's face. After that, he wiped him down all over, the whole time, keeping up a stream of soothing words. It was the closest they could get to a real bath, at the moment, at least.

He quickly stripped off the clothes he was in and washed himself down. When they were both dry, he took Sherlock's hand and led him down the corridor in search of a bedroom. He found one that didn't appear to get much use and tugged a reluctant Sherlock through the door. He pulled back the covers, lifted the detective and put him in the bed, then he climbed in beside him. As he pulled the covers over them, he could feel the tug of sleep already pulling at him. John only hoped they didn't pay too dearly for the much needed rest.

When John woke the following morning, Sherlock was on his knees beside the bed.

“What is it, babe?”

He shook his head and stared at the floor.

Groaning, the doctor rolled over but as he did Sherlock started crawling towards the door.

Cautiously, he followed him but it was only to find Jim at the table, Moran clearly wasn't finished with the hit yet. It might be a few days.

The criminal mastermind didn't even comment on the fact they'd come out of a bedroom or the fact they looked relatively clean.

“Heel, Sherly! Johnny Boy, you can come have a seat with me.”

John sat in the chair next to Jim, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't. There was a plate of food for him and another right beside it.

“Put that plate on the floor for my doggy,” Jim ordered. He was busy reading something on his phone.

John went to place the food on the floor but Moriarty seemed to see what it was on the plate over the top of his phone screen.

“Actually, you feed him. I don't want a mess all over my floor.”

With that he got up and walked away.

John blinked, stunned. He wondered if he could get to the kitchen and obtain a weapon. If he could get a knife... He doubled over in pain as his collar shocked him.

“Don't get any clever ideas, Johnny Boy. Just do as you're told.”

John glanced up and saw Jim in the doorway, he was still on his phone but he was entirely relaxed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Feed him, then take him upstairs. I have things to do today I can't do with that whining runt following me around.”

“Yes, sir.” John was elated. He only hoped Moriarty didn't change his mind. He coaxed as much food into Sherlock as he could, then he led him upstairs where they were blissfully alone, unchained and uncaged.

Hours passed and John assumed Jim had gone out. He went to the door to check, finding this half of the mansion empty he made them both a cup of tea and took it back upstairs. What the hell was going on?

Sherlock was knelt beside the dog bed and he groaned the second he ever left the other man's side he knelt.

“Babe, if you're going to kneel, at least do it in the bed. Please.”

John got Sherlock onto the blanket, the whole time, he was thinking. If Jim had left them alone, maybe this was their chance. He'd leave the detective alone for a bit and scout out the house. But first he'd make sure Sherlock drank something that wasn't out of a dog bowl.

“You want to make me happy, don't you, Sherlock?” John tried.

The detective nodded but looked slightly confused at the name.

“Well… here,” he placed the mug into his hands and shifted him around so he was on his bum in the bed.

Sherlock looked at the mug of tea blankly until the doctor tipped it to the detective's lips. “Drink,” John urged. “Not too fast, but drink it all. I'll be right back. Stay here.” He didn't know why he bothered adding that, it wasn't like he would move.

The doctor went over and crept back down the stairs. If nothing else, maybe he could find a weapon to hide in the attic.

What John didn't realise was the alarm Moriarty had set up if he went anywhere that wasn't the bedroom they'd slept in, the kitchen or the bathroom.

Satisfied the place was empty he headed back upstairs to fetch Sherlock only to get to the top of the stairs and the door to slam shut.

“Bollocks,” he hissed, mostly surprised no pain had followed.

John berated himself for not at least grabbing a knife whilst he had been in the kitchen. It was probably a secondary kitchen anyway and didn't have any knives. He dreaded what would happen when Jim showed up next.

Sherlock was staring at his now empty mug.

John shook his head and joined him, to wait for the dreaded return.

It was hours later when Jim showed up. Moran was still out so he was on his own.

“Watson, here, now!” He barked.

Swallowing nervously, John actually crawled across the room.

Moriarty fisted his hand in his hair.

“It was me, sir,” the doctor said before Jim could say anything.

“I had rather gathered, Watson, since my dog would never even dream of it.”

Jim pulled John along by his now too long hair and dumped him by the detective. “Of course, if I hurt the useless dog, it's more likely to make an impression on you.” He grabbed Sherlock by the curls and dragged him to the bench, picking up a cane along the way.

“No!” John yelled. “Sir, please!”

Jim shoved Sherlock over the bench.

“Fetch me the cuffs, Watson.”

“Sir, it was me that escaped. Well… explored. Not Sherlock, he had nothing to do with it, sir, he stayed up here, like… like a good boy,” he finished, making himself feel sick.

“It's so much fun to watch you, Watson. Johnny Boy. John.” Jim lifted Sherlock just enough to slam him back down. “Don't you understand that's half of why I like hurting him?”

John groaned and dropped his head. “Hit me,” he said eventually.

“What?”

“Hit. Me. Are you deaf?”

“You want me. To hit. You.” Jim stalked over to John, cane raised. He brought it down, hard, hitting the doctor on his left shoulder. John went down, crying out in agony.

Sherlock didn't move, just stayed where he'd been pressed over the bench.

“Stand against the cross, then, Watson.”

John struggled to his feet. This time, it wasn't like Sherlock had messed up and he was taking the wrap, he had been the one to screw up. He deserved this. He shuffled to the cross, rubbing his shoulder as he went. When he got to it, it was a struggle to raise his left arm for Moriarty to buckle it in place, but he managed it.

The criminal mastermind left him tied there while he turned around and faced Sherlock. He collected the cuffs himself and buckled him to the bench.

“You know, Watson, I was beginning to think I could trust you. Seeing as he is a dog now, but you let me down.”

That said he brought the cane down on Sherlock's arse.

John pulled against the cuffs. “I thought you were going to hit me!”

“Oh, Johnny, that wouldn't be nearly as much fun.” Jim brought the cane down again. “I'm going to make sure my doggy can't sit for a week. Every welt, every bruise will be a reminder to you that it's your fault. And anyway. You asked me to hit you. You didn't ask me to do it more than once.”

John sighed, letting his head dropped against his right arm, seeing as he felt his left one might fall off.

“Sherly. Dog! Turn your head so John can see your face.”

Sherlock did so, allowing the doctor to see every pained expression that crossed his face. Every strike made John feel guiltier.

“Sir, I'm sorry,” John said eventually.

“Sorry! Sorry for what?”

The doctor thought long and hard. “Betraying your trust, sir?”

“Ha! You never had it.” Jim's next blow was hard enough to split skin. “I'm surprised it took you this long to test me.” He set the tip of the cane against the floor and rested his weight on it. “I had to practically invite you to go exploring.”

“You set me up?!” John yelled.

“Yes. I did.”

Jim grinned as he threw the cane away and headed to the door.

“See you tomorrow, boys.”


	6. Fade to Black

It was several hours later that Moriarty ventured back up to the attic. He was talking on his phone to an associate as he walked across the room and stood in front of the cross grinning at John. Ringing off, he took stock of the doctor and was satisfied with what he saw. Perhaps it was temporary, but John's normal residual resistance seemed to be missing. That might have something to do with the fact he was hanging rather uncomfortably from his wrists.

He collected the crop from the table beside the cross and tilted the doctor's head back with it.

“Have I got your cooperation now, Watson?”

John's drooping eyes drifted to Sherlock. The detective was still facing his way and his bottom lip was in tatters as he stopped himself from crying in pain.

“Yes, sir,” John slurred. He hoped Jim wouldn't hit Sherlock, but he was too tired to beg. He had barely got the acknowledgement out.

“I wonder if I really do.” He brought the tip of the riding crop to John's lips. “Open.” When the doctor did as he was told, Jim pushed the tip of the riding crop in far enough that John started to gag. He held it there for several seconds, watching as the doctor struggled not to gag further. He held it past the uncomfortable point before he yanked it roughly from his mouth.

John spluttered for a moment, but didn't have the energy to breathe the deep breaths he needed.

Jim's attention moved to Sherlock. “Well I know he'll cooperate. Isn't that right, dog?”

“Yes, master,” Sherlock whispered, averting his eyes.

The doctor hated himself for it, but he didn't even have the energy to tell Moriarty to leave the detective alone.

“As nice as this is, you're both too tired to be much fun.” He released John from the cross and let him fall to the floor. “Then again-” He gave him a kick in the side.

John realised there and then that he needed to behave. Do whatever damn thing this idiot wanted. It would protect himself, but more importantly it would protect Sherlock. He knew he didn't have to break, that wasn't what he wanted. Even so, he pushed himself to his knees. “Do with me what you wish, sir.”

“I don't need your permission to do that.” Jim crouched down in front of John. “Why do I even waste my time with you? You should be boring. Ordinary. Maybe it's because you belong to him.” His eyes narrowed. “What does he see in you? Even Seb had a taste of you. Tell me, Johnny Boy, should I try you out myself? Hmm?”

John didn't answer, just stared at the floor.

Jim watched him for a moment, “God, you really are no fun like this. It's pathetic, but at least you'll obey me now.” He kicked his thigh. “Go and get in the dog bed.” He moved to untie Sherlock from the bench. The detective didn't move at all despite his new freedom.

“I would let little your doctor see to these lovely stripes you have, but he seems a bit out of it, doggy. I'll be taking care of you.” Jim moved to fetch antiseptic wipes, then came back and began cleaning the detective's arse and thighs.

Sherlock was in tears by the time Seb was done and his arse stung like mad.

John watched from the corner, absolutely whacked. He couldn't believe the criminal mastermind was actually taking care of Sherlock, but he didn't have the strength to say it. He doubted it would get a good response even if he did.

“I should keep you like this all the time,” Jim said to himself as he smoothed his hand over Sherlock's arse. “Up.” He brought his hand down on the bruised and broken flesh. “Go and join the dog handler in the corner.”

Sherlock crawled across the room and curled into a ball beside the doctor.

Jim chained their collars to the wall and then left them to it, locking the door again.

John stroked Sherlock's messy curls and down his back. “Sorry. I'm sorry. T'was my fault.” His eyes fell on the tail that was still somehow lodged in the detective's hole despite everything. Jim must have avoided it with the crop. He daren't remove it and, at the moment, it seemed the least of Sherlock's worries.

The detective actually took comfort in John's local vicinity and he snuggled into his lap.

It made the doctor's heart ache even more. He kept up a constant stream of soothing sounds. It occurred to him to wonder how long they had been kept prisoner and why Mycroft hadn't managed to find them yet. It wasn't like Moriarty had been keeping a low profile. The man had even taken Sherlock off the premises once. It didn't matter. Obviously, Jim had his ways of keeping his movements hidden.

If only Sherlock hadn't broken. Or at least hadn't fake broken. That way, he would have been of some help when it came to formulating an escape plan. Not that they could implement it at the moment; the state they were both in.

John wanted to stay awake. He wanted to keep comforting Sherlock, but it was all too much. Slowly, his hand stilled and his chin dropped to his chest as he drifted off into an exhausted slumber.

Sherlock shifted to watch the doctor, but it meant leaning his sore arse on the padding of the bed.

He didn't want John to be in trouble like him. He could stop John being in trouble like him. He crawled to the stairs, but jolted at the jerk on his neck, reaching up he unclipped the leash before continuing his journey and then climbed down the stairs. He knelt in the small gap at the bottom and knocked on the door.

He could hear Jim's angry growl from the other side of the door as the lock was disengaged and the door was flung open. Sherlock immediately crawled forward and leaned into his master's legs, trying to placate him.

Jim laughed. “Did you miss me, then, doggy?” He petted Sherlock's curls. “Come on. You can sit with me while I work.”

That hadn't been the reception, Sherlock had anticipated, but it was good all the same. He crawled after his master and settled on his knees beside him when he sat at his desk.

Jim balled up a sheet of paper and tossed it across the room. “Fetch, doggy.”

Caught off guard, it took a moment for Sherlock to realise what was expected of him. Jim nudged the tail sticking out of him with the toe of his shoe.

“I said fetch!”

Sherlock scrambled across the room and picked the paper up with his teeth. He took it straight back to Jim and dropped it at his feet then he rested his head against his knee.

The criminal mastermind looked down in surprise. “Good doggy,” he ran his hand through his curls as he typed one handed. “Sometimes, I think the work it takes being the world's only consulting criminal isn't worth the reward. Like now. This work is boring.” He threw the ball of paper again and Sherlock went after it. “But you've completely changed my mind. Playing with you is definitely worth it.”

By the tenth throw, Sherlock was panting heavily.

Jim dropped the ball of paper on the desk and ran his hand over the doggy's neck. “Good boy,” he whispered.

The detective's only vague thought was that at least Jim's attention was on him and not John. His own discomfort barely registered.

It must have been many hours that passed as, upstairs, John awoke alone.

“Sherlock?”

There was no response as he searched around the room.

“Jim! Sir?!”

It was a few minutes, but eventually the door opened.

Moriarty walked forward and unchained his leash. Then he snagged it sharply and tugged him downstairs.

Sherlock was curled up in a ball beside the criminal mastermind's desk, his tail plug poking out.

John started to calm the slightest bit. He didn't think Jim would kill Sherlock, but he couldn't be sure of that. Seeing him alive let the doctor breathe, well, not easily, but better. He still ached, so it jolted when Jim shoved him to his knees.

“Did you have a little think about what the point of you was?” Jim sat back at his desk, ignoring the sleeping Sherlock.

“Yes, sir,” he answered cautiously.

“Well, spit it out then, Watson.”

“To put him back together, sir. When you hurt him.”

“Very good. You're smarter than you look. Of course, you'd have to be to have kept his interest.” Jim looked at Sherlock, his own eyes seeming to go distant. “You can do that now. Take my doggy for a walk and fix him.”

“Yes, sir,” John scrambled across the room quicker than he had ever moved before. He slowly shook Sherlock awake.

The detective's eyes flickered opened and widened at the sight of John.

“Do you need a pee?”

He did, so he nodded, then he remembered he was supposed to bark. When Sherlock made a barking sound, Jim laughed, but John... he flinched.

“Alright, come on,” the doctor coaxed, trying not to show his fury as he stood to lead Sherlock from the room. “We'll go outside for a bit.” He pushed the door open and the guards were ever present. He led him over to the same tree they had used the day before. “Go on then, 'Lock. Take your time.”

As Sherlock peed, John considered the ever present plug. It was problematic. The detective had to have other needs, but damned if he was going to make him take care of them out here, not when Moriarty hadn't specifically demanded it. After they were done, he'd sneak Sherlock to the loo. He'd check his injuries out himself whilst they were there. That would give them an excuse for being there should they need one.

When Sherlock returned to kneeling at his feet John pulled him upright to hug him.

One of the guards cleared their throat and the doctor realised they had overstayed their welcome in the yard, so John led the younger man back inside.

Getting Sherlock to use the loo wasn't as simple as John had hoped it would be. In the end, it was the doctor who had to remove the plug and push Sherlock onto the loo. It was like handling a very ill patient. It was over soon enough and John got to the business of checking Sherlock's wounds. As for the plug, he was delaying replacing it for as long as possible.

“The door locks automatically now,” Jim called in from the hall. For some reason, he wasn't destroying their privacy by coming in. He waited until the pair returned from the loo before he continued talking. “I'm going to try the whole trusting thing again. This time, step foot outside somewhere you're not supposed to be and your collar will shock you so bad you won't be able to move for months.”

John shivered. He definitely didn't want to experience whatever level of shock Jim had arranged for them should they stray. “Understood, sir,” he said with a resigned sigh. It would have been nice if the bloody collars would at least beep or something if they were getting near a forbidden zone.

“Let's go and get you some food, babe,”

He waited for Moriarty to leave and then pulled Sherlock up to his feet. He hated seeing him on his knees all the time.

Sherlock fought him at first, trying to stay down, but John soothed him with calming words and he let himself be urged to his feet. Still, he shook until the doctor took him in his arms and held him for a few moments that stretched into minutes.

John couldn't work out what Moriarty's game was. Sometimes he punished them, sometimes they were naked, sometimes they weren't, sometimes he played games with them and other times he just left them to it. Maybe that was the point, to keep them off balance. Maybe Jim was just batshit crazy.

John heard himself laughing and he clamped his mouth down on it. He wasn't allowed to break. He had to remember the signal phrase for Sherlock.

He let the younger man kneel beside him as he prepared something simple. The detective wrapped his arms around John's leg, which, despite surprising John, did make him feel proud.

When Sherlock absolutely refused to sit in a chair to eat, the doctor sat on the floor beside him. He fed the kneeling detective one bite at a time from his own hand. It seemed to help keep Sherlock calm whilst he ate.

Sherlock's head tipped over onto John's shoulder. John kissed the top of his head. “Love you, babe,” he whispered.

The detective made a snuffling sound, then sighed as he settled even more. John didn't have the heart to move him and resigned himself to sitting on the floor for the foreseeable future. He managed to move around so he was against one of the units where he dozed off, his head back against wood. As he was drifting off, his main thought was the fact how much both of them seemed to sleep at the moment, especially Sherlock.

Much later, they were startled awake by the sound of Jim banging a cup against the counter top. “Wake up boys! Daddy's bored!”

Sherlock got to his knees, immediately crawling over to the psychopath.

John groaned as he blinked awake.

Sherlock was across the room with Jim by the time he had pushed himself to his own knees.

Moriarty grinned, watching John. “Good boy, you can behave!”

The doctor felt pathetic - he had felt a rush of pleasure at being praised. He understood that was merely because it meant they might escape punishment, but he also understood that was one step nearer him breaking. He wouldn't break! John vowed to envision punching Jim each time the man doled out his praise. As difficult as that might be.

“Daddy wants to play. Seb's not back yet so it's just us. Sound fun?” He ruffled Sherlock's curls.

“Yes master,” the 'dog' responded.

Moriarty's gaze shifted to the doctor. “What about you?”

John took a deep breath and pictured Jim's nose breaking. “Yes, sir,” he said through grinding teeth.

“Good!” Jim clapped his hands, delighted. “I love such enthusiasm.”

John ignored the temptation to say 'fuck you' they both knew it was forced and fake.

“Play room.” Moriarty pointed.

John didn't bother standing up, just crawled to the stairs.

By the time they had made it to the attic playroom, the doctor's knees were aching, but somehow he didn't really care. He knew things would soon be getting worse.

The feel of Jim's foot on his arse shouldn't have been much of a surprise, but he soon found himself on his back. He looked up to see Sherlock being dragged along by his curls, he was caught between kneeling and squatting.

Jim threw the detective down on the bench roughly, then turned and looked back at John. “Come hold him down for me while I decide what game I want to play.”

John didn't quite know what he meant. Hold him down how? Even so he straightened himself up and moved over and across to Sherlock. The younger man didn't look at all comfortable.

Jim waved his hand. “You can just sit on him if you like.” He walked over to look at the many toys and made a great show of examining them.

John couldn't make himself sit on Sherlock, not in the position the detective was in. He was afraid that if he did, Sherlock wouldn't be able to breathe. Instead, he lay over him, caging him with his arms and trying to keep most of his weight off of him.

Jim turned around, spotted them, and grinned. “Great idea, Watson!” He grabbed the rope off the wall and moved to tie them up, but more so, to one another.

John wanted to pull away from the rope as it wound around first his wrists then his arms. Jim kept working with the rope and soon had them bound together hopelessly from hand to foot.

“I should take a picture. I think I will.” Jim snapped a photo with his phone. “I'm getting quite the photo album. I'll show it to you sometime.” Jim circled them. “What shall we say to you fucking him while he sucks me? Spit roast?”

John bit his lip, it was becoming more and more difficult to control himself.

“Hold still,” Jim said sweetly, as if the other men could actually move if they wanted to.

He moved behind John, a vibrating butt plug in his hand.

“So you two remain tied together while you fuck him uncomfortably, just as I get my own pleasure. I think I'll warm you both up first though.”

“No,” John heard himself say, despite his determination not to bring punishment down on them.

“No?” Jim waved the plug around. “I didn't ask if you wanted this inside you, Watson.”

“I won't do that to him.”

“Reconsider. If you don't, I will. With you sandwiched between us. And I'll be sure to hurt him.”

John looked down at the non-moving, non-commenting detective.

“Sorry, sir,” he said eventually.

“Good. Mess up again and that's it.” Jim played with the doctor's hole with the tip of his finger.

John struggled not to scream at the man to just do it. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's shoulder to keep himself quiet. When Jim's finger breached him, he closed his eyes. His hole was toyed with forever, Jim clearly didn't have anything booked into his schedule for the next month.

“I can gag you, Watson if you would prefer?” He said it in a way that suggested John had a choice, but probably didn't.

All in all, John decided it might be best if he were gagged. He growled to communicate such, not trusting himself with words. If he spoke...

“Oh, Johnny Boy's going to get himself in trouble.” Jim stood and fetched a dildo shaped gag. When he came back, he forced it into John's mouth roughly.

The blond struggled at first until he heard Sherlock whimper quietly and then he stilled. As long as he kept his head still, he wouldn't be in danger of gagging, at least that's what he thought until Moriarty yanked the straps back behind his head and buckled it up tightly.

All John could do at that point was concentrate on breathing and not crushing the man beneath him. Oh, he was aware of Sherlock's grunts and groans as Jim fingered him open, but there was nothing they could do about it.

John cried out, gagging, as something wide and hard was rammed into his hole without warning.

“You better take all of this, Watson, or you'll get bigger and no more preparation.” Jim flicked the plug with his index finger, grinning.

John jolted in response, causing the detective to whimper. He turned his head and rested his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder. It was the only way he had to apologise.

Moriarty continued to push the plug into the doctor, quickly but smoothly. John jerked again when he caught his prostate and would have growled if he could have at Jim's laugh.

Moriarty fucked him with it for a moment before grabbing a bigger one and withdrawing the current one from his arse far too quickly.

What the doctor hated the most was that his body was reacting. His cock was already semi-hard from the prodding his prostate had received. When the new, larger plug entered him, he couldn't help moaning, especially when it rested against that bundle of nerves and began vibrating.

Jim stepped back clapping. He watched John's cock harden against Sherlock's back. He pushed his hand between his two slaves and wrapped his fist around the doctor's cock. “We can't have you coming.”

John groaned internally, he should have known that it was about to happen…

A cock ring was soon snapped around his cock and then around the base of his bollocks. A small snap of a clip later and he felt his cock pulled back as the ring was attached to the plug.

Moriarty hummed, liking the obvious pain the blond man was now in. “No, still not enough.” He muttered turning up the vibrations in the plug. “What else to do to you… hmm?”

Christ, John couldn't imagine what else Jim was going to do to him. His cock was already throbbing. It took everything he had not to rut against Sherlock.

Moriarty flicked at his cock a few times, it had gone from semi hard to impossibly purple in the space of 5 minutes.

He wished for some form of telepathy so he could communicate with Sherlock. The younger man was incredibly still and it was getting harder and harder for John to keep his weight off him.

When Jim stopped touching him, John sighed with relief. He felt bad for that, when he realised the consulting criminal had only done it so he could start working Sherlock open. From the sound of it, he was working fast as the detective hissed and groaned at the intrusion.

“Get in him. Now,” Jim ordered sharply.

If John could have complained, he would have.

The criminal mastermind loosened certain ropes to give John enough room to get into position.

“Remember, you do it, or I will,” Jim whispered into the doctor's ear. “Now.”

John took a deep breath and started to push in. It felt so good, tight and hot, and he hated himself for it. He tried telling himself it was just biology, but that didn't ease the guilt.

Moriarty slapped him on the arse. “Move!”

John felt like crying as he pushed in and out with the little movement he had available.

It didn't take long for him to walk around the bench and push a ring gag into Sherlock's mouth. He twisted the lever to push it open to its maximum. “Enjoy, doggy.”

Sherlock's reactions were limited. He grunted as his body was rocked and when Jim thrust deeply into his mouth, he gagged. It was John who wanted everything to end. He was the one left to feel the horror of the situation.

He could feel his bollocks wanting to empty themselves, but knew if they did it would hurt like hell and would most definitely not be comfortable or an orgasm.

He realised the only way out of this was for either him or Sherlock to pass out. He was sure Jim didn't want them dead. So it must be worth the risk?

He leant forward so the gag pressed to the back of his throat, feeling much like he was skipping out on Sherlock. His descent into darkness was swift. He only hoped that Jim would notice.


	7. How Long?

John woke to see Jim hovering over him. The madman slapped him across his left cheek.

“Wake up, Watson! You're not allowed to die on me.”

Jim slapped the doctor again. John groaned and raised his hands to fend Moriarty off.

He wasn't on the bench any longer, he was in the corner of the room in the dog bed beside a curled up Sherlock. He was still tied to the detective however, their rather trapped cocks were joined by a length of rough rope.

“Welcome back, Johnny Boy.” Jim sat back on his haunches. “I'm glad to see you awake, though I am rather disappointed in you. I thought you were made of tougher stuff.”

John relaxed a bit. Moriarty hadn't guessed he'd done it on purpose, cutting off his own air supply. His vision took a while to clear but it did eventually.

“Just so you know the dog is a very good cock sucker. He licked me clean after I had my fun.”

So, John's ploy to end everything that had been happening hadn't worked after all. Jim must have carried on tormenting Sherlock despite the fact the doctor had passed out. He was doubly surprised to be alive considering that and doubly furious. He jerked as Jim smacked him again. It made Sherlock cry out in pain. The doctor glanced down at the rope around his bollocks and turned to him. “I'm sorry, 'Lock.”

The detective was looking at him with wide eyes. Sherlock didn't care about the pain. What little of himself he hadn't hidden away inside his Mind Palace was only afraid for John and was still recovering from the fright of the doctor having passed out earlier.

“Take him downstairs,” Jim ordered on the way to the door. “Feed it, because I can't be bothered. I'm going to find Seb. And be warned, Watson, your collar is still set up.”

“Yes, sir,” John croaked. He wasn't sure how they were supposed to move about, let alone negotiate the stairs, tied together as they were. He'd just have to be very careful and maybe carry Sherlock if the rope was long enough.

The door slammed shut behind Jim and John sighed. “You alright, babe?”

Sherlock nodded, glad that the doctor was fine, but then he dropped his head.

What John wouldn't give to be able to really talk to Sherlock again and have a real conversation. He carefully lifted the detective in his arms and made his way to the stairs, then started down them. He realised he must have been asleep for a while because he felt alright, not dizzy or faint. “What do you fancy for food?” He asked, trying to coax some conversation out of the detective.

“Whatever you want, sir.” Sherlock's words were muffled since he had hidden his face against John's chest.

The doctor kept talking to him like he had gotten a normal reply. “You have to eat something. It's not healthy, how thin you are. I wonder if there are any chocolate hobnobs in the kitchen. I'll have to look. You'd eat those readily enough.”

“Hmm,” he agreed. “Yes, sir.”

John sighed, this was hopeless. He sagged when he reached the kitchen, then he sat in a chair and just held the detective. He may have slept, but he was tired, more mentally than anything else.

Suddenly the door swung in and Seb sauntered in. “Hello doggies!”

John jerked alert and Sherlock whimpered again.

“Looks like Jim's having his fun with you two.”

This was bad. Sebastian didn't appear to be in a good mood.

“He has all the fun and I get stuck with a double hit that goes bad.” He grabbed Sherlock's curls in his left hand and John's hair in his right. “How are the two of you going to fix my crappy day?”

Sherlock swallowed and tried to fall to the floor. He yelled just as Jim walked in.

“Sebby! There you are!”

“Hi, boss.”

Jim wrapped his arms around Seb and held him. “You made fucking Sherly's mouth look so good the other day that I had to try it. It was lovely, though Johnny Boy tried to mess up my fun. He passed out.”

This time Seb grabbed John. “Ruin the boss' fun did you?”

John tried to struggle out of his grip, but it didn't go very well.

Seb pulled his head back even further and looked into the doctor's eyes. “Nobody ruins Jim's fun, least of all a worthless dog like you.” He looked down and saw how the two men were tied together and grabbed the rope, pulling it.

Sherlock actually cried and John couldn't bear it. He cried out, “I didn't mean it! Sir… sirs, I promise.”

Jim hugged Seb to him, his boyfriend was back. “Well you two better eat. More doggy tricks for that today!” He pointed at Sherlock.

Sebastian turned around and kissed Moriarty. It made John's stomach turn to see that particular pair at it. They didn't deserve any kind of happiness.

“Can you untie us, sir? Please?”

“He asked nicely,” Jim turned to Seb. “It can be polite. Let them loose, Seb,” Jim said as he walked from the room. “I can't be bothered to feed them. That's Watson's job. He needs to be able to do it. Then come join me. I missed you even with the dogs to entertain me.”

“Sure, boss,” Seb nodded, then made sure to tighten the rope around their bollocks before untying it completely. Well, he untied it completely from John, not Sherlock.

“He's to have a bacon sandwich, and to eat from your hand, is that clear?” Seb growled at the doctor.

“Yes, sir,” John panted as the rope was released.

“What about you?” He snarled yanking Sherlock's head back again.

“Yes, master,” he whimpered.

John waited a moment after they had left the room to heave a sigh of relief. He was still uncomfortable, but at least he could move, now, without hurting Sherlock. He set to work making the sandwich that Jim had demanded he make.

Sherlock had pushed himself to his knees beside the chair John had sat in before.

The doctor sighed, but knew they wouldn't get away with leaving Sherlock to eat on his own. He sat back down gingerly and broke off a bite, feeding it to the other man. “Maybe they'll keep each other entertained for a bit.” He broke off another bite and ate it himself.

John watched Sherlock stare at the floor. This was so exhausting! He had no idea what torture Moriarty would come up with next for Sherlock or maybe them both, but he knew whatever it was, Sherlock would go along with it and he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.

He took his time feeding Sherlock and eating - he'd stay in the kitchen until forced to leave. Christ, his bollocks ached.

Since they had left, Sherlock hadn't made a sound, but he flinched when the door was kicked open again.

John nearly opened his mouth, seriously contemplating a snarky remark along the lines of, 'you'll put your foot through it, you bloody psychopath'.

“Look at you two love birds.” Jim's tone was mocking. “I think I've let you rest enough. You can both crawl in here and join us. Now!”

Sherlock moved straight away and a part of John made him want to be able to do the same without worrying about dignity and other stuff. He would have been resentful, but he knew Sherlock had expected Jim to concentrate on him and leave John mostly untouched. It hadn't turned out that way.

“Roll over!” Jim ordered immediately.

Sherlock just complied, John looked confused.

“Not you, Watson, you're his puppy handler, remember?”

“Yes, sir.” The doctor stared at Moriarty. The man really was insane. He heard Sebastian clear his throat and turned to look at him. The assassin looked bored. John hoped Jim hadn't notice.

But Jim had notice. “What is it, Sebby?”

“Can't he do things that are more fun? This is getting rather boring. He can do all this stuff. He needs new tricks or new toys.”

Seb called Sherlock over and grasped the rope that still dangled from his cock and bollocks. He gave it a tug. “Like this, boss. He needs a few weights hanging from it. Then make him do some of his tricks.”

“Run up to the playroom and get some weights then, Watson.”

“Sir-”

“Now!” Moriarty barked making both John and Sherlock jump. “Heel, boy!”

John, having run to the playroom, looked around for the smallest weights he could find. He grabbed a couple, knowing Jim wouldn't be happy with just one. Hopefully two would be enough to satisfy him. Sherlock was knelt beside Jim when he returned, he was upright, the criminal mastermind's hand in his curls and Seb tugging on the rope still around his balls. “The weights, sirs.” John offered them to Moran.

The assassin took them and immediately threaded them onto the rope and tied it off, then he let it drop.

Sherlock couldn't double over with the grip Moriarty had in his curls so he just settled for a whimper.

John quickly fell to his knees beside him when Seb kicked him in the back of the leg.

“Stay down, Watson. It's where you belong, on your knees. No.” He kicked him on the arse. “On all fours is better, unless my boss tells you otherwise.”

John moved so he was as close to Sherlock as he could get without the pair noticing.

“Roll over, boy,” Jim ordered kicking Sherlock in the thigh.

This time, when he complied, the weights pulled at his cock and bollocks painfully. It didn't slow him down, however, just caused him to whimper in pain.

After the frustrating double hit, it was just what Moran needed to take his mind off of things.

“Are they both dead?” Jim asked casually as he toed the detective's balls from where he lay upside down.

“Just about. The second one wasn't clean.”

“Spin in a circle!” Jim rubbed Seb's arm. “You're good, but even you can't be expected to have a perfect record. Things happen.”

“She bent over. For no reason!” Seb threw a pillow at Sherlock, it being the only thing to hand.

“But you still hit her. If she doesn't die, we'll take her out at the next opportunity. Besides, taking her out was an object lesson, she doesn't know anything that can hurt us.”

“I can't believe it took me so long. More than 24 hours. It was two old people.”

“You're losing your touch,” Jim said, almost gently.

John would have laughed if it haven't been for his position.

“I'm not losing my touch!” Seb stood and walked so that he stood over Sherlock and John. “Heel.” He started petting the detective's curly hair. “It was bad timing, that's all it was.”

“Bad timing? In what way?”

“I don't know. Much more fun here. With these two.”

Moriarty shrugged. “What shall we do with them now?”

Seb kept stroking Sherlock's curls, much to John's disgust. “I'd like to stretch this one out on the cross. Maybe just play with him a bit. See how he reacts to different things. I've got some tiger balm left over from when I pulled that muscle. How do you think he would like that, boss? I think it would make him squirm.”

“No!” John found himself saying as he looked up at the pair. “Sirs, please, try it on me instead. I promise I'll be much more entertaining than he will be.”

“Tie the doctor to the bench and play with them both,” Jim suggested. “We'll see who puts on the best show.”

Seb liked the sound of that. “You're brilliant, boss.”

Jim grabbed his face between his hands and brought their lips together.

John had to go back to staring at the floor to avoid gagging at the sight of the pair of them.

“Take the doggy upstairs, Watson, we'll be right along.” Jim waved for them to get moving.

John wasn't sure it was safe to stand. “Come on, 'Lock. You heard him.” He started for the stairs, certain the detective would follow.

“Actually, I've changed my mind. Holmes, tie him to the cross. You're going to play with him when we finally join you.”

Sherlock's head remained low. “Yes, master.”

“Is that a problem, Watson?” Moran growled at him.

“No, sir.”

In fact, it was good. He wouldn't have to hurt Sherlock. And it wouldn't really be the detective doing it to him anyway, he reasoned. John got to his feet at the stairs and encouraged the detective to do the same.

Sherlock obeyed and headed straight to the wall where the different array of cuffs and rope were spread out. Some part of him was still thinking as he selected the most comfortable cuffs available. He picked them up along with the rope and approached John. Standing before him, the detective shook.

“It's fine, 'Lock,” John actually grinned. “It's more than fine. And please don't call me sir. Aren't you technically on top now?” He held out his wrists. “There you go.”

Sherlock was incredibly gentle as he buckled the cuffs in place. He stood hesitantly and then looked over at the cross.

The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder before kissing him quickly. “You're in there somewhere. This isn't you. Ok? I know that, and I hope you know that too.”

Jim and Seb entered the attic playroom at just that moment.

“Oh, isn't that sweet. Johnny Boy is trying to make Sherly feel better.” Jim walked across the room and ran a hand along the detective's jawline.

“Is it working?” He whispered in his ear.

“No, master.”

The doctor's sigh was silent as he walked to the cross. It was best to get this over with. John watched as Jim gave Sherlock a shove in his direction. The detective drew near with the rope and began tying him to the cross.

Sherlock immediately dropped to his knees when he was done but Jim pulled him back to his feet. “Oh, no, no, no. You are playing with him. You don't kneel.”

The detective looked at John helplessly, not knowing what to do.

“Get moving.” Jim took the tiger balm from Seb and passed it to the detective. “Scoop a load of that out,” Jim ordered, “and wipe it where you think it would be best.”

“Master-”

“Now, doggy.”

The first touch of Sherlock's hand to John's cock felt nothing so much as cold.

“Stroke him,” Jim ordered.

As the detective began doing so, the balm began to burn. John ground his teeth, trying to ignore what was being done to him. It didn't help that every time he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock there looking oh so helpless.

“More. This time in his hole.”

John wanted to close his eyes, knowing how much worse that would hurt, but he didn't. He held Sherlock's gaze, trying to tell him it was ok.

Sherlock stared uneasily at the doctor’s cock.

“Oh, quite right, doggy, he has two holes, doesn't he?”

Sherlock ducked his head. “Yes, master.” This wouldn't be good.

John screwed his eyes shut this time, unable to resist. The balm burned like fire and he couldn't help trying to squirm away from it.

Jim pushed his slave out of the way and with a gloved finger pressed tiger balm to the tip of John's cock.

“Have you ever used a sound before, Sherlock?”

The detective's gaze flickered to John, but he was rather shocked to hear his name.

“Yes, master.” He had, once or twice. He bowed his head as John bucked in his bonds.

The doctor really, really didn't want the sound in him, but saying so was pointless. With the balm... He wished he could pull the passing out trick again. It was all he could do not to beg when the cold steel touched the tip of his cock.

Jim took Seb's hand and tugged him back to the sofa to watch. He pulled him down onto his lap.

“Is this your idea of fun?” He whispered. “Fuck his cock faster than that, doggy!” He had glanced at the two slaves who had frozen.

Seb nodded. “Much better.”

The sniper rather enjoyed seeing Sherlock being a bit more animated and taking part, so to speak. It didn't matter that the detective wasn't enjoying it. He was fun to watch, what with his pretty curls and pale skin.

Once the sound had sunk all the way in, Sherlock didn't know what to do next. John's head had fallen back against the cross, his eyes screwed shut, so no help would be forthcoming from there.

“Leave it in there!” Seb demanded when Sherlock started to remove it.

“Seb is right, leave it where it is, he has another hole you haven't seen to yet.”

The doctor was breathing shallowly and he was trying to think of anything that came to mind as a distraction. It wasn't working, when Sherlock's fingers breached him, he let out a gasp that turned to a low moan of pain as the heat set in. His eyes were screwed up tightly so when something rubbery hit his stomach it came as a surprise.

“Get that inside him,” Jim ordered.

Sherlock bent and picked up the butt plug. He stared at it for a moment before moving, almost trance like, to put it in place. He knelt between John's legs and reached between them, finding his hole and pressing the plug against it.

The balm sat on the tip of the plug as Sherlock pressed it in, rubbing the horrible solution all the way up his insides.

Seb laughed and put his arm around Jim. “This is just what I needed. Doggy! Go back to playing with his cock.”

John didn't miss the fleeting touch Sherlock gave him. Obviously wherever he was hiding inside his head had noticed the situation and was trying to make it easier, if only slightly.

Sherlock stroked John's cock, watching it. Something told him this was wrong. He shouldn't be doing it, not like this, not when it caused John pain.

John stood there wishing he could do something. Anything. That would help Sherlock, help them both. How long had they been there? Where was Mycroft and Greg? They must have noticed that Sherlock was missing by now.

***

Greg stared at the huge electronic map on the wall. There was an area highlighted in red.

“That's where we lost Moran,” Mycroft said, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic amount of strain.

“What does that mean for the search?”

“It means he either went to ground in that area...”

“Or wants you to think he did.” The DI slouched and leaned back against the table that was just behind him. “How can we work it out if each option is equally likely?”

Mycroft ran a hand over his face. “There's not even a guarantee he is with Moriarty or with Sherlock and John.”

“But he was seen…”

“Yes, but was that planned? Moriarty gave my men the slip on purpose.”

“If only your man had acted faster, freed Sherlock then.”

“And what of John?”

Greg raked his hands through his hair. Mycroft was right. For all they knew, the doctor had been rigged to explosives set to go off if Moriarty didn't return by a specific time.

They needed to find them both. Together.

“If we find Sherlock alone we may as well not find him at all.”

“Myc-”

“You've seen what he's like with John. How much better his life has been. We don't know what state he is in but if we can't fix it, John can.”

“And if we can't find John?” The DI swallowed. “Or if he's-”

“If he's dead?” Mycroft asked. “If he's dead I'm afraid we'll lose my brother too. It will just take longer.”


	8. Obsession

John woke to darkness. He and Sherlock were on the dog beds in the attic play room, their collars chained to the wall. The doctor felt a strange sense of unease, which was saying quite a lot considering what their lives had become. He looked around in the gloom and gave a start. Sebastian Moran was sat off to the side, staring at them. No, he was staring at Sherlock.

“Se- sir?”

“Shut up, Watson,” he hissed, watching Sherlock sleeping.

“But-”

“I said shut it!”

His voice jerked Sherlock awake and he whimpered. John ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm him; soothe him.

Seb glared at the doctor. “Stop it. Don't touch him.” He moved forward and unfastened Sherlock's collar from the wall, pulling on it so he had to get up on all fours. “You still think he's yours, don't you, Watson? Well, he's not.”

John ducked his head as Seb smacked him.

“Heel, doggy,” the sniper directed towards Sherlock. 

The detective knelt up beside the other man, still watching John.

Seb led Sherlock over to the bench, then gestured for him to climb up on it. The detective scurried to comply.

“Does Jim know what you're doing?” John asked.

Seb shrugged. “I'm not doing anything. Just examining him. And I doubt he cares, to be honest. He's growing rather bored with the pair of you. He had been hoping this thing would break a lot later.” He began to ruffle Sherlock's curls. “What do you think, doggy? Comfortable?”

Sherlock wasn't certain what he was supposed to call the man talking to him. He wasn't Master. “Yes... sir.”

“Good doggy.” Seb proceeded to examine every inch of the detective's body. “I don't think the boss really appreciates how pretty you are. Especially that mouth of yours.”

John glared at the floor. Completely unimpressed. He didn't want him touching Sherlock.

Seb ran his hand around Sherlock's lips. “Jim is out for the day, so, much like he had you all to himself, I do today. But not right now,” he shoved him towards where John was.

Sherlock crawled back towards John as fast as he could. The doctor caught him up in outstretched arms and folded them around him as if to protect him from Moran.

Seb shook his head and casually produced the remote control for their collars. He pressed the button that activated John's. “I told you not to touch him. He's not yours.”

John refused to back down. He knew the sniper wouldn't dare permanently harm them and he assumed that knocking him unconscious counted as that.

Seb growled before kicking out at the pair of them and disappearing back down the stairs.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the doctor hugged Sherlock. He rested his head on top of the other man's curls and breathed in the scent of him. “He's gone,” John whispered soothingly. He wasn't sure if the words were meant for Sherlock or himself. “He's gone and we're alright.”

That ordeal had barely lasted 10 minutes. Something was definitely going on between his boyfriend and Sebastian. Whatever it was he didn't like it. It felt like something that wasn't entirely master/slave. It was something else.

Several minutes later, Moran appeared again. This time he carried a tray with tea and a sandwich. He set it down, then turned to the two men on the dog beds. With a glare for John, he gathered up Sherlock's leash from the floor and walked him over to the tray. Seb sat and ordered him to heel. “You'd think either Jim or your friend would take better care of you.” Tearing off a bite, he fed it to the detective.

Sherlock glanced over at the doctor, unsure.

“Eat it, Sherlock,” Seb ordered almost softly.

John watched on, highly confused, but glad that Sherlock was being made to eat, he himself wasn't hungry at all.

With each bite Seb fed to him, Sherlock looked towards John. Each time he did, the sniper gently took his chin and turned his head back to look at him. “I'm going to take care of you. You need to learn you can depend on me.” He ran a finger over the detective's lips. “Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded, but didn't know if he meant it or not. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Seb whispered softly feeding him another bite.

John definitely didn't like this development and he didn't trust it at all. His hands were balled up into fists so tightly that his fingernails were biting into his palms.

“Catch!” Seb yelled.

The doctor's head jerked up in time to see an apple being thrown in his direction.

“Eat it, or boss will go mad.”

John caught the apple and looked at it. He wondered idly if it was drugged. Looking it over, he decided there weren't any needle punctures on it. The doctor took a bite as he watched Seb and Sherlock. Despite it only being an apple it made him feel sick and once he had taken a bite, watching Sherlock eating - being fed - made him feel even worse. He let the apple drop from his hand as he strained forward as far as his leash would allow him to go. It was sorely tempting to ask what Seb thought he was doing again.

“I told you to eat, Watson,” Seb growled from where he sat beside Sherlock still feeding him.

John could tell his boyfriend had had enough food, he didn't eat much at the best of times.

Seb stroked the detective's messy curls. “Eat just a bit more,” he coaxed, holding another bite to Sherlock's lips.

The detective was starting to feel uncomfortable and even a bit ill, but he ate the bite anyway.

Three more bites in John could tell he had definitely had enough.

Before Seb realised what was happening, the kneeling Sherlock had looked over his shoulder and had been sick on the floor.

John blanched, terrified for his boyfriend. He dreaded Sebastian's reaction. “Sir! I'll clean up. Don't punish him, sir. Please.”

Seb glared at the doctor. “Of course you'll clean his mess. It's your fault he got sick. You haven't been taking good care of him.” He walked over and unfastened the leash from John's collar. “But I will.” Walking back over to Sherlock, Seb picked him up and, sitting down in a chair, held him.

Sherlock was whimpering, but Seb began to wash his mouth off with the cloth from the table. “Shh,” he whispered.

John immediately scrambled for something to clean the mess that Sherlock had left behind. He felt like he had lost his mind or maybe Seb had. Maybe this was another ploy to keep them off balance? But it didn't feel like it was.

“How about a bath?” Seb offered.

Sherlock was still whimpering, trying to reach John, but not actually moving.

“Sir, I would willingly help him take a bath.”

Seb glanced at his watch and nodded. “Alright, Watson. You have an hour. There's something I need to do anyway.” With that, Seb upped and left, leaving them to it.

There was definitely something strange going on.

John scrambled over to Sherlock and gathered him into his arms. “I've got you, 'Lock.” He picked up the detective and carried him to the bathroom where he sat him down on top of the closed loo lid. “I wish you could tell me what the bloody hell is going on with Moran.”

Sherlock stared at the floor. Either he didn't know the answer or he did and wouldn't tell him.

John hoped it was the latter, but he highly doubted it for some reason.

He leant over the bath and pushed the plug into the hole. He turned on the taps and sighed.

“Babe, let's get you in the bath.” John helped the detective into the tub. “If something doesn't happen soon-” He snapped his mouth shut. There was no point in vocalising his frustrations and doubts. He didn't know if he could trust Sherlock not to repeat it. If Moran or Moriarty asked about anything Sherlock wouldn't have a problem with responding to whatever it was.

The detective had drawn his knees up to his chest and was shivering despite the warmth of the water.

“Hey, we're fine.” John pulled Sherlock's head against his chest. “We're fine.” He was lying, but he didn't think it would matter.

The doctor distantly wondered what Seb was up to for Moriarty. He doubted it was anything out of the house and he had no confirmation that their collars had been deactivated.

Sherlock was still shivering. John decided to climb into the bath with him. He slotted himself in behind the detective and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock's tremors finally subsided and the doctor sighed in relief. It was possible the morning's events had put Sherlock into some form of shock.

After a bit, John started washing Sherlock's hair. It not only seemed to soothe the detective, it seemed to soothe him as well. There were few pleasures available to either of them, but this was one.

When he was done he held Sherlock close. This was getting ridiculous. He didn't know how much longer he could take of the mind games their two captors were playing. If he broke, Sherlock would be lost forever too.

John had got the detective out of the bath and pulled the plug. He was drying off the other man, taking his time and being incredibly gentle. He froze when he heard the sound of someone entering the attic room.

It must have been Seb because he had said the criminal mastermind was out for the day.

He quickly dried Sherlock off and slipped him into some pants just to save his modesty, at least what was left of it, then he pulled a pair of trousers that lay nearby on himself. With that, he pushed the door open and, taking Sherlock by the hand, led him down the corridor and to the door that led up to the attic stairs.

The noises got louder, almost calamitous. John looked around for something he could use as a weapon. If the house was under attack it could be good news for them or it could be very, very bad.

Before he could find anything, the door to the stairs was kicked open and two armed men burst through.

John and Sherlock froze where they stood. Well, Sherlock froze for a matter of seconds before turning and cowering to the corner.

“Sir, in here!” One of the men yelled as John followed the detective.

“No!” Seb roared as he fired two shots, bringing the men down. He rushed for the stairs and, kicking the bodies out of the way, ran up them before anyone else could reach them.

Greg ran in first not that far ahead of Mycroft who was yelling behind him. “You four come with me!” The sight he found at the top of the stairs nearly broke his heart.

Sebastian had kicked John away from Sherlock who was huddled in the corner. The sniper stood over him, his gun pointed at the stairway. Behind him, the detective was reaching out toward John, clearly distressed.

“Don't fire!” Mycroft yelled when they ran in. Seb was big enough that at first glance they wouldn't have noticed Sherlock behind.

The armed men set up around the corner.

“Go away!” Seb yelled. “Leave us alone.”

Greg shot a look at Mycroft. “You're a bloody psycho!” He added in Seb's direction.

It wasn't the armed men that stopped Seb's rampage it was John. He raised his foot and kicked Moran in the back of the head. The gun fell to the floor as Moran pitched forward. Instantly, Mycroft's men were on him and took him down to the ground.

At the same time, John called out the phrase Sherlock had given him, not once, but three times. The detective looked at him blankly. It wasn't working! John thought he was going to be sick. Instead of panicking he rushed forward and gathered Sherlock up in his arms. He looked at Mycroft who had moved forward so they were stood beside them. “What the bloody hell took you so long?!”

The government official was incredibly pale. Greg reached out to steady him. “That can wait until later.” The DI's eyes were locked on Sherlock. “There's an ambulance waiting if you need it. Two actually.”

“You're not separating us,” John snapped.

“Yeah. I figured.” Greg pointed towards the stairs. “Let's get out of this place.” He hadn't been able to help seeing all of the things lying about the attic room and wanted out of there as fast as could be managed. Mycroft's men could see to everything that had to be done.

Suddenly, gunfire sounded from below. It had to be Moriarty.

John actually glared at Greg as he picked the detective up. “Does it look like he's perfectly healthy?” He snapped as he made his way to the door. That didn't mean they'd take the ambulance.

Greg rubbed his temple. No it didn't look like Sherlock was healthy at all. For that matter, John looked like hell as well. At least the gun fire had ceased and there hadn't been any yelling to take cover.

Sure enough, when they got downstairs, there was a furious Moriarty being dragged through the room, cuffed.

“Master!” Sherlock cried struggling from John's arms and breaking free.

“Sherlock!” John called.

“Bark for me, boy,” Jim order when he reached the door.

To Mycroft and Greg's horror he did bark.

Mycroft's men dragged Moriarty, laughing, from the mansion. John lunged after him, only to be stopped short by a staggering jolt from his collar that knocked him to the floor, screaming. Fortunately, Mycroft quickly deduced the cause and removed the collar from around his neck.

Seconds later Sherlock collapsed too.

It was John who managed to get his collar loose. Thank god they were out of the way.

“It's alright. It's gone,” John whispered, managing to pick him up again.

Greg looked at his boyfriend. He thought he understood Mycroft's expression - Moriarty and Moran would likely not survive their imprisonment for very long. That was fine with him. By the time he came back to his senses Sherlock and John were out the door. The pair caught up with them beside the front door that had been kicked open.

Sherlock was unsteady on his feet while John found his coat from the hook and wrapped it around his pale skin.

“What did they do to him?” Mycroft asked, his voice cracking. “He shouldn't have broken like this, not Sherlock.”

John laughed bitterly. “He got this brilliant idea to hide in his Mind Palace so they couldn't really hurt him. I was supposed to say this phrase and he would re-emerge, but it didn't work.”

“That's what you were calling to him a moment ago?” Mycroft asked.

John nodded, taking Sherlock's hand. “Come on, babe, it's time to go home.”

Mycroft reached out towards the doctor. “John, do you think that's best.”

“Try to stop us,” John growled. All of the pent up frustration and anger was boiling to the surface and it was being directed at those who didn't deserve it, he knew it, but couldn't seem to stop.

Mycroft joined them in the back seat of the sedan while Greg drove. They didn't pull up at Baker Street but in the car park behind the Diogenes.

“No.” John refused to get out of the car. He felt about 30 seconds from punching Mycroft. “I said, take us home.” He would have thrown the punch despite the confined space if Sherlock hadn't been clinging to him so tightly.

“This is the best place for him to be John,” Mycroft said softly. “You both need help, not just him. There's spare rooms in the back and Gregory and I can stay with you.”

John wanted to argue, but he suddenly didn't have the energy. Instead, he let his head drop back against the seat in defeat. “Whatever.” He didn't even seem to have the energy to get out of the car.

Greg nodded once at Mycroft. The government official scooped his brother up and Greg picked up John. By the time they reached one of the spare rooms both of them had fallen asleep.


	9. Welcome Back

When John awoke, it was to find himself in bed in a strange place. That wasn't what mattered, though. The thing that he had to focus on was Sherlock clinging to him as if he were the only stable point in a world gone mad. The doctor supposed that, for his boyfriend, he was.

“It's alright, 'Lock.”

Sherlock was crying softly beside him.

“Sherlock?” John noticed that immediately as Mycroft's voice.

The detective clung to John even tighter and hid his face. The doctor struggled to sit up in the bed and pull himself together.

“Mycroft,” John said with a scratchy voice, “what time is it? Hell, what day is it?” The whole time, he smoothed down Sherlock's wild curls.

“Wednesday. It's about 4am.”

“You found us on…”

“Sunday.”

“That's- that's 3 days!”

“Mm, yes. You were both clearly exhausted from your ordeal and your bodies needed time to heal. We helped them do that.”

“You kept us knocked out, you mean.”

Mycroft's face was grim. “Lightly sedated, I believe is the term the doctors used.”

“You knocked me out- you knocked him out!” He hated what he was about to say in front of Sherlock, but he couldn't let go of him. “He's a bloody addict, just rescued or not!”

“Don't you think I know that?!” Mycroft snapped, causing his brother to cower. He rubbed at his temple and searched for his normal equilibrium. “I haven't slept for days worrying if it was the right thing to do, but he was in near panic and you were exhausted. In the end I decided there was no choice.”

“You decided! You! Who are you to even know what they will do to him? You're no doctor, Mycroft!”

At that point Greg re-entered the room carrying a tray. The DI took in the two angry men glaring each other down and the cowering detective with his face hidden against John's chest. He set the tray down on the bedside table, then turned around. “I think that's about enough from the both of you. Mycroft, you keep your mouth shut. You know John's on hair trigger. John, your job is to take care of Sherlock, not rant at my boyfriend.”

“I'm not ranting at him because he's your boyfriend! I'm ranting at him because he's my boyfriend’s brother! Were you agreeable to this?”

“Shut up,” Greg demanded. “You're stressed and tired.”

“I've just slept for 3 days solid, I am not tired!”

“You must be, because you're oblivious to the fact Sherlock's shaking and on the verge of falling apart! Get it together!” Greg was shouting in John's face.

John took a deep breath, more than content to punch the pair of them, but it seemed to be what he had needed. He glanced down and sighed.

“Shh,” John whispered, holding Sherlock tighter.

Mycroft wanted to point out that John was the one who had made his brother shake in the first place.

“You should have found us sooner,” the doctor whispered.

Just as quietly, the government official agreed, “Yes, we should have.” His voice was thick with suppressed emotion. He stood and crossed the room, looking at the bland picture hanging on the wall. “You have no idea how hard we tried.”

“How hard you failed,” John countered.

“It wasn't our intention to fail! We tailed Moriarty when Sherlock left with him from that meeting. He obviously spotted the car. Because he went everywhere except where we found you.”

John couldn't help himself, he growled deep in his throat, causing Sherlock to whimper.

Mycroft's shoulders slumped. “I am obviously nothing more than an irritant. I shall take my leave until such time as you need me.” He walked towards the door.

His brother made a choked noise and started crying, reaching away from John for the first time and towards Mycroft.

The older brother froze. So did John.

Mycroft spun on his toe. “Sherlock?”

The detective didn't seem to know what he wanted to do.

“Come here then,” Mycroft said gently. Sherlock climbed from the bed and raced at his brother. Mycroft caught him up in a hug, staggering back a step at the force of the impact. He lifted him in his arms and carried him back to the chair to sit. Rocking him, he addressed the doctor, “It seems that we're stuck with one another whether we like it or not, doctor.”

John sighed and stared at the space Sherlock had just so quickly vacated. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Mycroft kept rocking his brother and kissed the top of his head. “Me too.” He closed his eyes, wondering how they could reach his brother again. “What exactly was his so called plan?”

“I didn't agree with it. We were discussing it. And suddenly he was just 'I'm doing it' and then he was like this.”

“Again,” Mycroft said wearily, “what was the plan?”

“He thought he would bear the brunt of the abuse if he appeared to break, Moriarty would concentrate completely on him and leave me alone.”

“Foolish sentiment,” the elder Holmes said with no sense of irony as he rocked his brother. “Go on.”

“He said he was going to lock himself away in his Mind Palace and pretend to break. He gave me a phrase to say to bring him out of it. It didn't work.”

“What was that phrase, John?”

The doctor sank back against his pillow and repeated it. When he did, something happened. Sherlock lifted his head and blinked several times, then he scowled to find himself in his brother's lap.

“Mycroft?” He frowned, “what's going on?” He tried to stand up and whimpered.

John scrambled off the bed, ignoring his own pain and ran to Sherlock. “Oh my god. It actually worked! Sherlock? What the- thank fuck!”

“What's going on?” The detective winced again.

“Just because you're mentally ok all of a sudden doesn't mean the rest of you is ok.”

“Everything hurts.” Sherlock finally managed to stand, but he had to move slowly. “I assume that means my plan worked.”

John just shook his head, his mouth hanging open. When he finally got himself under control, he urged his boyfriend to sit on the bed. “It worked after a fashion. It protected you mentally, but…”

Sherlock glanced down and realised he was naked. “Oh.” Then he burst out laughing. He managed to keep that chuckle up for a while and then groaned, dropping back to sink down on the bed. “John, I really, really hurt.”

“After what I had to watch them do to you... After what I had to do to you... God, it's a miracle you're in one piece.”

“Well my head feels in about 15 pieces, to be honest.” He groaned and raised his hand to his head. “Make that 30.”

Suddenly the weight that John had been carrying became too much for him. He crumpled down onto the bed, shaking, and brought his hands up to cover his eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of the others seeing him cry.

With a glance at Mycroft, the detective, slowly walked towards John. He sat himself down on the side of the bed, next to him. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “John...”

The doctor shook his head and held onto Sherlock. He had to let it all out, the fear for Sherlock, for himself, the useless anger, all of it.

Sherlock just held him tighter. “I know I was stupid. I know it was a risk,” he sighed. “It worked though. I'm fine. You're fine.”

John started laughing hysterically. “Fine?! Christ, I'm not fine. I am so far from fine.” He held Sherlock so tightly the detective almost couldn't breathe. “I'll have nightmares for the rest of my life about what was done to you. I'm never letting you go.”

Sherlock pulled away so he could kiss him. “You had nightmares anyway. Afghanistan.”

John sighed. “That was what happened to me. To my friends. Not to my best friend, or the man I love.”

“I promise to be there to wake you, to show you they're not real. Every time. I swear.” The detective kissed him again.

Mycroft and Greg agreed silently to slip from the room.

Sherlock was still looking at John but he knew his brother had started to go. He couldn't help it; “No!”

The two men at the door froze.

“Don't go,” Sherlock begged.

Mycroft was torn. He didn't want to make things harder on John, but his brother's needs won out. He turned and came back into the room, the DI following suit.

Slowly, almost cautiously Sherlock let go of the doctor and pushed himself to his feet. He took the few steps between the bed and his brother and actually wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you for finding us.”

Mycroft hugged him back. “Always.”


End file.
